The Spell
In a dead garden of evergreen somewhere deep in L.A. you made me laugh the hardest. You said your name was Donna but I knew you were lying and I loved that about it all. The fib, this big life you had dug up in the beaches of New Atlantis.
The morning I woke up to your somber song, I had to move slowly between the salted freshness of the Pacific’s stray hairs. Her locks forever waving on this metropolis. How beautiful it was to know that we had left our great machines at the end of oblivion.
Often I wonder what it would be like if I went with you. In those memories; a nasty craving for the way you said, “We could live anywhere.”
The days we had, those stupid hours where we shone so bright, so utterly needy. We talked too much, we waited too long. The gaping forever, a kiss, a connection in a brain, in a coma, in an idea to escape.
