I left my heart in California.
It is buried there,
beneath tree roots and roses.
It blooms in spring
with cala lilies and jacaranda trees.
Butterflies swagger on its petals,
and the sea salt smooths the rough edges.
In winter, my heart is devoured
In winter, my heart is devoured
by the vampire boys and boys with broken wings,
bloodhounds with sandpaper veins who
stalk blood roses in the Hollywood hills.
It is all red flesh and weak,
but the seeds get stomped
back into the ground
by girls in combat boots and pink dresses.
My heart seeks me in all seasons
My heart seeks me in all seasons
knowing that a small cloud hangs
where my heart used to be.
A cloud dripping dew
to the rest of me,
wondering if a new heart will grow.
