Not so much an occasion
More a celebration of the every day

A reminder
That the buildings may not allow for backyards
But the shutters open out into a skyline worth the curiosity

That hearts break as frequently as they mend
But some solace can be offered

In the arms of a city
The lip of a cup
On the lap of a king
The hips of a rose being peddled after midnight

And if 3 am is for poets and mad hatters
Maybe we’ve been awake too long
But the way you quick step across the floor
I begin to think we fell down the rabbit hole without noticing

Like maybe
Whoever said nothing good happens after 3 am
Was just staying in the wrong places

Words by Kenzie

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