Trees bloomed pink in the end of days

Trees bloomed pink in the sunlight
Wine poured from the mouth of a shared refrigerator
We spoke to each other on the doorstep
Waxing twenty-something beneath the solstice
You smoked and I did not
Whilst another chewed the fat
With a crestfallen moth
Having taken a wrong turn at the lights
And we all pretended to listen
As the fires inside us blazed between the streets
Soft music duelled with harsh guitars
Something we usually condemned
But in the pink of the evening we decided
That we would simply enjoy what was before us
We would celebrate the finer moments
Of midsummer's latest masterpiece

The trees bloomed bright as the button moon
Spores flew first class on the breeze
We continued our conversation
On topics not quite yet worn out
I filled my glass as you did
Whilst another queued with elation
We quarrelled not with ourselves
Only with our troubled consciences
Yet the fires blazed too hot for their voices
To breathe amidst the cinders of chatter
The peripheral figures to which we would usually succumb
Tried hard as they might
But in the pink of those days and nights
We did not allow them entry to our oases
And instead the reds of the most darling buds
Would expel to the distance our suffering