Your Epiphany.

The inhilation of Sweet's lilac smoke
shows tangy, swelling, now seen living day
that squeezes granules, makes a thin soft cloak
to shake between you and the coastal spray.

Its hints of vision stream your fine rebirth,
push shiny vistas in your perky eyes,
who wash you down, with secrets held from mirth,
and slip you love; another welcome prize.

The hungers squirming in a brightened hue
are solid colours, simply looking fresh;
and you're fulfilled, limply blending the new
and contemplating your god's clever mesh.

You'll have your white life and love that new shape.
But there you are. Seated. Peeled like a grape.