DONA, shadows braid your name through my veins,
red dust of your laugh still storms in my chest.
I chase the echo of your bare feet across the cracked vinyl night,
every drop a heartbeat I can’t swallow.
DONA, the moon is a scratched record repeating our last kiss—
I taste iron, I taste Eden, I taste the freeway burning below us.
Spin me backward into the fire where your breath was my only license to breathe.
In the silence after the beat, your ghost drops the needle again;
I die, I rise, I die, disco.