Dear Annabelle
Dear Annabelle. I have lived and died for love. I have learn to accept less and I became the street poet.

I found her waiting for me in Santa Cruz. She was smoking a cigar and had container of good beer. Sitting alone with a Hemingway’s book and a kind smile by the Santa Cruz bay. You knew me and you called to me. “Dark Poet, sit with me and tell me a story. If you are lucky. I will tell you one of mine.”

I went to her and I embraced her. I whispered. I missed you dear Annabelle. I was gone too long from the coastline and you. I never forgot you my lover. In the night in the Iraq desert. I dreamed of your beautiful face and your kiss.

Annabelle smiled and she kissed me. She told me. “Roaming Poet soldier, you love your wars and the touch of new soil upon your boots. You have forgotten me. Two letters in three months. I thought I was just a quick kiss and run. I was glad you called me my Johnnie”

We sat like old lovers near the Pacific ocean. I held her gently and caressed her perfect tan legs, kissed her neck and we waited for the Thursday Santa Cruz poetry reading.

Annabelle asked me. “Do you remember the fault lines. You and I, free-climbing, drinking and making love in hidden waterfalls.  Did I keep you alive and warm when the nights became too long.”

I kissed her once, than kissed her twice and I whispered.  You saved my life once. You made feel alive and well when I was seeking the good death. Now I live and die to find you dear Annabelle. I want life, you and to hear your voice into the deep night. You are love, you are the rare sweetness in a life of dead-ends. You are my California dream.

Annabelle smiled and she whispered. I love you Johnnie and I want you to feel safe in my arms till the end.

John Castellenas/Coyote