When we fell asleep, the world looked like the inside of a sad waterfront trumpeter's heart. It was pure blue and without reason. It was just wet feet and hot cocoa. It was Christmas in our lungs and white teeth aglow. The water rolled, lifeless and elegant, like the best beatnik could. The waves napped, the fish slid, and we laughed until sun-up. It was glorious in such a sickening way. Darling, if it were up to me, it'd always be midnight, and we'd always be wild.
