Every night when the moon finally sets behind the mountain it’s easy to imagine that nothing really changed That I’m still sitting in the back of my red 1976 pick up truck with the windows down smoking a cigarette or that I’m back in the cabin with the screen door...
Lucifer sits beside me with one blue-jeaned knee pulled up to his chest and one lanky leg draped over the dock: “but isn’t pain sort of beautiful, in its own way?”his hair’s the kind of blonde thatholds the sunlight and his eyesare speckled...
