Junebug, I remember everything. The blue carpeted floors, the tall wooden doors, I held you in my arms. Junebug, I'd burn down a picture of a house, say it was ours, when we didn't need it anymore. And that was when I loved you best. We were kids then. We shouldn't think about the rest.
You'd put the moon in a basket on your bike front by the coast. The way your face lit up in pale grief you were a ghost. You liked to play with darkness, all the universe could give. I was the home you once tried to escape, the dark in which you lived. And soon they'd find you laying there on several different homes . They'd find you laying on their porches, did you need to use the phone? And lure you into their rooms, that was the last I heard of June.
That was love I could not allow. You were beautiful then , you're just a coke jaw now.
I remember everything. That was love I could not keep. You were beautiful then. I'm still in too deep.
Junebug