bird blue
secretly sometimes, I wish I lived in Laurel Canyon, in the late 1960s, I would wear my hair as long as smoke, breathing sepia through the sycamores up on the hill, a barefoot tiptoe cabin of a dream, someone would have a guitar, it would always be summer, the light skinny dipping in our faces, there would be a stove, and you would bring me coffee, stirred with the blue bird of dawn
- jitterbug writes


















