Playdough ambitions.

Blinding colour,psychedelic pain.

Running again in scruffy shorts,reaching out our grubby hands.

The crocheted delicacy of childishness.

Sprawled all over the sunbaked terraces,

washed up in our own ignorace

,or was it mere innocence.

The playground politics,or the very lack of it,thereof.

Curled up in the  cracks of our craniums,

just fading freckles.
Grew up playing house together,

now grow worthy building houses of our own.