Lulu

A sunny life is not for everyone, waves don’t always kiss palm trees, she isn’t that far gone, kids play on the sand, see her brown and lovely feet, to leave just like that, in lemon stripes at the pool, courted by a tender breeze, eyes like harvest moons, flame trails her headband, silver slippers from Seymour Street, she caresses mountains, and from a tiny back room, by a museums of the Beats, drinks whisky and misses June, when I take her hand, she is full of release, a perfumed contraband, just enough to kill me.