Celina Adrian

30,191 poems read

"joyride in cali"

without her,
this place here
just aint for me -
no bed comfortable enough
to rest peacefully
in hollywood

unable to quiet my mind
long enough to be
content no matter
where I lay my head or heart,
for that matter

I miss her

even my thoughts
get buried under pillows
or lost in the smog -
reflections of this self
aren't that clear, these days

return me to that city
where filty nasty stinking dirty streets
are cleaner than my present state of mind,
wrapped around grande illusions
that rain tinsels and tears

a drive down sunset
roof open to the infinite sky
temporarily boasts beautiful weather,
although the last time I saw her
and my poetry 
they were both under the tire
of a red ferrari