Nepenthe on a winters day that I can wear a t-shirt and jeans. Drive all the way down the coast for a glass of wine and three-way salad when all I want is a three-way as if it will give some meaning to this meaningless heart wrenching, Christmas eve crying break. I won’t, in fact it couldn’t. So I return to the car dessert-less, deserted to Shoobie do wop wop and Blue moon playing on the radio, to write about perfection, a perfect happy, and the sea was shining as small waves passed for whale spouts. I was too ashamed to use my crap digital camera for the man next to me had a vintagely beautiful camera. The couple next to me was drinking too much to wine to the point that he was professing his love and she was responding with the fact that one side of her neck was much tighter then the other. Wine maybe an aphrodisiac but it doesn’t make you stupid, if any thing it spurns and spurs creativity.
Lets get out of here before it gets dark and the magic begins and the illusion continues.
“ If I know its fire why do I let it burn my hand?”