We are all crimes of passion

Products of the flesh

And to bask in purely human sweat

In retrospect, oft seems an err

But in dusk light

Where the world grows softer

Colors calmed down

The body sinks rises

Surreal as a stronger aftertaste

Than the real thing

As a distasteful, but lovely

Birthday cake

Imbibed purely

Through the charming oversweetness

For the love of parents

Behind it