You Are In My Blood. I Cant

Choose To Believe In Your Own Myth Your Own Glamour Your Own Spell A Young Woman Who Does This (even If She Is Just Pretending) Has Everything.

All The Things That Girls Feel They Are Not When They Fear That If They Become, If They Are, They Will No Longer Be Loved By The Sisters Whose Hearts They Have Not Meant To Break. And Besides, If The Sisters Are Gone And Only The Beloved Remains With His Dense Curls And His Lips, How Safe Are You Then? You Have To Have Him Or You Will Die If The Sisters Are Gone With Their Listening Ears And Their Feet To Rub And Their Bodies To Dress And Their Shared Loneliness.

She Went Out In The City With Its Lights Like A Radioactive Phosphorescence, Wandered Through Galleries Where The High-priced Art On The Walls Was The Same As The Graffiti Scrawled Outside By Taggers Who Were Arrested Or Killed For It, Went To Parties In Hotel Rooms Where White-skinned, Lingerie-clad Rock Stars Had Been Staying The Night Their Husbands Shot Themselves In The Head, Listened To Music In Nightclubs Where Stunning Boyish Actors Had Od'd On The Pavement.

Dear Angel Juan, You Used To Guard My Sleep Like A Panther Biting Back My Pain With The Edge Of Your Teeth. You Carried Me Into The Dark Dream Jungle, Loping Past The Hungry Vines, Crossing The Shiny Fish-scale River. We Left My Tears Behind In A Chiming Silver Pool. We Left My Sorrow In The Muddy Hollows. When I Woke Up You Were Next To Me, Damp And Matted, Your Eyes Hazy, Trying To Remember The Way I Clung To You, How Far Down We Went. Was The Journey Too Far, Angel Juan? Did We Go Too Far?

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