Bayou Slow Burn (Медленное Горение)

Peter rolled tight to the leaning cypress, Dog on the porch just dreams, steam from the pot, Sweat on my collar, red sky splits at the seams. This that Bayou slow burn, where the water runs thick, Roots turn, we don't hurry, We just learn how the night hums, how the tide churns. Bayou slow burn, bell feet dancing in the dark ferns,