I am sitting in my garden,
on a dining room chair.
Drinking an ice cold Mojito.
The air is fresh and I am warm inside,
And out.
The sky is perfect blue,
And an ocean of clouds orbit above.
I will meet with friends later under a costume of stars and drink with the night.
I take one glorious sip of my Emerald Juice,
And look upwards.
I see the moon peeking down,
with the earths shadow painted upon it like the the rings of Saturn.
This is one of those moments,
In which if you died it would seem like art.
Positioned by the gods themselves, a testament to your angelic prose.
But the Sun begins to set and the air assumes a cold stance.
And I am reminded, that though times like this may be poetic…
Nature deals only with force.
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