A Kiss About Apple Pie A La

L.a. Kills People.' Jacaranda Said. 'you're Lucky You're Leaving. You'll Be Able To Write.' She Looked Paler, Going Through Another Depression, Smoking In Bed In Her Lilac Room. The Walls Were The Color Of Her Veins. She Was Getting Too Thin, Even For The Modeling. . .jacaranda Died Last Winter When The Flowering Trees Were Bare. You Couldn't Even Tell Which Ones Once Cried The Purple Blossoms She Named Herself After.

She Was No Longer A Slow Dreamer Watching The Flowers Grow. She Was A Warrior Now. Warriors Need Something To Fight For Though, Beside Their Lives, Because Otherwise Their Lives Will Not Be Worth It.

Everything Was Chocolate Ice Cream And Kisses And Wind.

She Wished She Had A Little Yellow House Of Her Own, With A Flower Box Full Of Real Flowers And Herbs – Pansies And Rosemary – And A Sweet Lover Who Would Swing Dance With Her In The Evenings And Cook Pasta And Read Poetry Aloud.

But Death Is Stronger Than That And When You Cover Your Eyes You Are The One Who Can't See The Dark. The Dark Still Sees You.