Dear Joanna,
I swear to God,
If I made you cry,
I'm sorry. You are made
of Sunday evening forget-
me-knots, and shadows in the
fields of our hometown. You are
six guitar strings reverberating in
constant cosmic collision. Cataclysmic
babies in your brain and with my elbows
on the table, I Love You. And with my hands
shaking hard in the concert hall, I Love You. And
with all the new slang spitting through radio waves,
I Love You. And from the backseat of your parents' car,
I Love You. And a tough **** friend, please stay with me till

The End.

You know, we felt the dark together.