We are lying on our bed smoking a cigar,

The smoke curls up in a blue haze.

We eat cold Mango and melon from room service.

Jim Morrison is playing through the speakers

We are in a state of confusion about the hours

If we go down to the beach until three

When we come back we will be at two

We decide not to worry about it and eat and drink

the fan overhead turns and turns and turns

Eyes feel tired and room service comes to take away dirty dishes

In a haze we comply and then the room is empty.

Bills paid, We lie back and take in the air and remember

when we used to know what we came here for.


Published by Andrew Mark Watkins

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