Under midnight lights the parking lot lines turn red

Supersized grocery stores have a tendency to fade to cherry

No one mentions it, I wonder if they see it at all

The scuffed white lines like a straw in Kool-Aid

I'm curious as to how it happens in the first place

Obviously it's related to the air falling from the moon

She drops something in the breeze from a comfortable distance

It's like a new lens has been put in my eyes

Somehow it burns my nose, making its way to my lungs

Although the burning doesn't hurt like hot asphalt

Or a freshly used stovetop that your mother warns you about

This is like the filtering of a streetlight in your neighbourhood

On the very same night you decide to keep going

Feeling more alive than you ever have standing in sunlight

This is like the nostalgic scent of newly brewed summer air

I know the aroma from fully packed elementary school cafeterias

And the empty peak of a graduation stage in the middle of a football field

The flickering superstore signs spend the day shining imitation yellow

At night is bleeds like a marker on paper into genuine garnet

The parking lot gains the same sensation as an old rest stop

Being eaten alive by a hungry but free forest

Overhead lights switching from bright white to warm colors

Cracked asphalt becomes our personal desert to dance in

It's a dying, heartbroken dance we stomp and kick

At the same time, it's familiar humidity to shield us from the cold

The closest we'll ever get to being wild animals running free

Scampering through the thickest of brush for survival

There's a taste momentarily catching my tongue and I know what it is

The smallest of flakes from the moon and her spice rack

Rare are the nights when we capable to catch a taste of it

The darkest red skies morph into light as the sun rises

Neither the moon nor the sun gives up their struggle for control

Like pressure to an oozing wound, the sky ceases its bleeding

Like the shifting wind in the late stages of May, the flavour changes under lilac clouds

And we all fall apart to our own tune, our ownrhythm for the rest of the day