Our Flowers Are Still Burning

In the sunken silhouette
Of your drunken pillow wet
From the teardrops that your sweet eyes
Are now churning
In the early morning light
On the curly fry you bite
That’s left behind by deadbeats
Undiscerning
When the party is through
And the people you knew
Have all dissolved to day jobs
That they’re spurning
If I fail in the end
Just to find me a friend
Beneath each flaming wreath
I’ve been upturning
I am soaking from the sun
I am joking with someone
I am hoping that our flowers are still burning
In the speckled melanin
That has freckled up your skin
A vivid new infinity I’m learning
In the markings of the rain
In a sparkling pattern plain
Bursting a refrain of hot returning
There’s a flame on your tongue
And a name still so unsung
Among the shitty wages that we’re earning
If our flowers appear
Still ablaze in a year
I won’t fear that the poverty’s concerning
I am soaking from the sun
I am joking with someone
I am hoping that our flowers are still burning
I am hoping that our flowers are still burning