The 19th

It was the golden month,
A nurturing time,
Where I looked to words with ambitious eyes,
But the haze of the cold was strong,
Menacing to the young slicks adept to the warmth of California.

So I only wrapped myself in clouded thoughts,
Safe in what I knew,
Walking around all cool,
Acting all mad with poetry,
Not sure if everyone could figure it out,
Though I was content with my own ideas.

Yes,
It was a golden time,
Just before July,
A soft and holy time,
Nothing to be confused by,
No clichés,
Just the sweet vibes floating freely,
Just that sweet dew of the morning which I love dearly,
And I wrapped myself in those sweet words,
If only for a little while,
Here in my California.