Ignial

Fresh scents of filtered vomit

Aromatic potpourri in the breeze

The sun greets me with a warm caress

Beating my flesh with a fiery whip

I listen to the roaring of the ocean

Preying upon the oblivious sand

The valley of broken glass

Tickles my feet, making them blush

We are the virgin tadpoles

intoxicated by disapproval

Waiting to fall in our own pile of manure