To when you remember

recollections of good old songs
that taught us to talk about how
we felt about touch with no vow
and the taste of rum in beer bongs

the taste of lamp skins on our tongues
don Williams on loud boom bap beats
running with tyres down blue-black streets
brown brick on brown brick we built this
city into what exhales bliss—
far from what happens beneath sheets.

Younglan Talyoung