In the Fog

Wild Heart Scribe

Enlighten me with a jasmine-scented
New Orleans drizzle running down
the length of my black hair…
Awoken from my you-induced haze
I remember…
I remember what you said
and it tumbles me like a
confession in a bottle
caught in the waters
nipping at Beach Boulevard.
Its end lives in the fog
so I’ll drop it down to the
bottom of my frosty glass of
Rancho Santa Margarita…
drop it down and watch it drown.
I’ll drink it down, drink it down
till it nestles between
my gut and my backbone,
but Hope and Powder Springs eternal.
Hmm… here it comes…
the beat of hooves that
threatens solid ground
kicks up Georgia clay
and will bury you in
a Gulf of red…
a Gulf of red.
So, it’s the last one
only because its end
lives in the fog, but
your luck is in a bottle
caught in the waters

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