He kissed me in the middle of that wild undergrowth, dry grass, avocado and lemon trees, and then after that every time he played I felt something anchor in my chest, the lower octave, his crazy hair obscuring the intensity I pretended to see in his eyes.
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Brokedown
He’s so new that kissing him feels like a relapse.
Low Tide in D Minor
That love is still there, moving through amygdala to hypothalamus, tangled in my hair, sticky on my thighs.
The Wait
Debbie was tall and skinny, with dirty blonde hair and a scarred face. She had a black eye that she had unsuccessfully tried to hide with makeup. Her voice was raspy.
tonight.
I feel rubbed raw lately, nerve endings exposed and torn. It’s the kind of pain that makes me avoid the newspaper and television. When I’m tired I remember what worked: the dope, the drinks, the hospital. “How’s your spiritual fitness?” She asks. And, “Go to a meeting. Help someone.” I will. I trust her. I…
En route to San Diego, Amtrak
So much nostalgia, all the time. It’s overwhelming. I want to live everywhere.
Longest dream ever.
I tried to work it out “Inception”-style, but when I woke up, you were still dead.
Allison McCabe 