A lonely night on town street.
Many apples to be picked among the remains of lost youth and innocence.
Many a brew to be consumed,
until I am blind with joy and distortion.
The clear sky of night, blissfully ignored,
due to the beautiful ladies of night.
Eyes meeting eyes.
Shivers up my spine.
Big brews and fine wine.
Exciting flaws anticipating rejection.
© Alex Turner 2015