Regency

Faded

She hands me

The peers,

A dragon.

Bent time,

Feeling the pulse of the crowd.

The heat of the skid fire,

The cracks of the fire crackers,

Scared I hold him.

His sweater thick and warm

My tears hot and strong.

She sits,

The queen of the party.

In the trucks fog lights

Illuminated,

Her king not too far

Rolling joints for the townspeople.

A dragon.

Her grace is in the beanie slouching off her head,

Her beauty is in her combat boots,

Her rein will be long and prosperous

Over the smoke infested nation.

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