I never spoke to you of New Orleans. New Orleans coated in powdered sugar. New Orleans strangled cayenne pepper. I long for both up and down Lake Pontchartrain, my hands gliding across celestial shores, folksong singing birds from wirelines. I never spoke of the five horns slow dancing across. I never said what it means to miss New Orleans. Free New Orleans. Defend New Orleans. Pianos in the courtyard sing to vampires in the architecture. I only ask to spread myself across that place, the place that made me long while life drifted off on notes in the air entangled in Kudzu.