I live in a constant state where my imagination far exceeds my talent, intellect, know how and ability to create and keep up with it.  I have no idea what I am doing or how I ever do it, not when I paint or draw or write or sculpt or... it's always a mystery and a wonder to watch.  Though being a somewhat helpless spector at times can be frustrating, it's the strange and dark pull and love towards tragedy and misery and beauty found in unlikely places that makes it impossible not to watch.  I am not who I think I am except when I am lost to the imagination of a dream of who I once was or might have been.  My name was lost long ago along with the first honey bee to sacrifice it's life to protect itself from harm.  I've been buried and born and loved and hated and dreamt and died all in the same moment and found and lost the secrets of life in a single breath that I never took.  And maybe one day I will be real if I can only manage to catch up to my imagination....

My kinda strange is as pure as it is *****
It is a kind of lust and love in perfect greys of checkerboard black and whites
It is moonlight in a bottle and sunshine hidden in a kiss
Its hopeless to the sounds of nothings sweet and desperate to feel the teeth of dark passions moan
Its holding hands under a fort of blankets and pillows while reading a classic tale from childhood long ago
And secretly having eachother in the middle of a crowd during the roar of a live show
Its the magic found in sharing shy kisses years into being in love and the leaving of reckless marks and scars in flesh and dreams of a first night
And I can see my kinda strange dancing inbetween the colors of your eyes and beneath the tattoos on the surface of your skin
And if you step into this madness with me we can do anything that we have ever dreamed
And get lost in a bottle of monlight while sharing kisses that burn with the fury of the sun
Where we do nothing but strange in the name of love

I never felt the need for anything until I felt the need for you

His heart had never felt beautiful
until it was held softly by her hands
She was the answer to the prayer
he never could have dreamt or spoken
And wherever she stepped here on earth
heavens flowers bloomed
And everything changed
and nothing was the same
as long as his heart
was beating beautifully
in the gentle grace of her hands

In a world of nickel nights of lust all he wanted was a pennys wish for love

He never wanted a normal love a sweet painless candy covered lover he wanted someone with sharp edges and broken pieces someone who not only knew tragedy and pain but someone who knew how to pull the beauty out of their dead hearts and rise again from the cinder and ash someone who not only could but wanted to walk into the fires of madness hand in hand someone who could burn the fire back someone who didn't fear the devils laughter but someone who could make the devil laugh he never saw love as a normal thing to do it had to wear a reckless smile of mischief and have eyes that swirled with magic and was only possible in chasing the impossible and however love fell into his life it was never anything like normal

He carved her bones out of the soft spots of time
and the fires of eternity
and cooled and smoothed them in the rivers
that ran down from the mountains
where the old gods were rumored
to have gone mad and fallen asleep
beyond the knowledge and prayers
of all things that breathed and lived
and loved and hoped

He started with the caves that would form the pools
in which her eyes would sleep
and dream and wonder
and then shaped her skull around them
leaving out no detail or necessity
making each curve and line as important as the last

With her head complete he moved to each bone
that would be her spine with the same delicate care for perfection
and from her spine he then formed her ribs
making sure to reinforce each one
yet leave them flexible as it would be their function
to protect her heart and give it room to bloom and grow

He formed a bone of intricate nature
in the center and front of her
for the ribs to attach themselves to
and placed two bones along her collar
and blades on the left and right of her back
from which her arms would sway and swing
and hold things close

and then moved down and began
to chisel out the hills and arcs of her hips
where her legs would hang and twirl and spin
and then chipped away at time and eternity
to fashion every tiny bone of her feet
on which she would walk and run
and leap and dance upon

With the rest of her bones complete
he began to tenderly shape
and cut and sculpt each bone in her hand
making sure they would be pliable and limber
with a touch of delicacy and strength
for with her hands she would weave
dreams and life and love

With the last of her fingertips carved
and cooled and smoothed
and pulled from the river
he laid her bones out carefully one by one
on a blanket that he had stolen
from the robes of death
from the time before gods and men
and stars and trees and language
the time that only spirits and animals
moved through the velvet indigo
of the night sky
and prowled the cosmos alone
to their own songs and laws

He pulled thread from light not yet born
and the black from shadows yet to be cast
and twisted them together
and slowly began to pull her bones into place
and braid and twine her flesh and skin
and hair and eyes
and as her body and shape were completed
he started to weave and sculpt
and form her heart
with the most urgent of care
and within he hid the secrets
of colors to be unseen
and an endless spool of fire
and silk and blood
and the importance of kindness
and compassion

With the last stitch pulled through
and tied and knotted and cut
he had worked himself down
to nothing more than a grain of sand
and dust and wind and he smiled
a tired and worn and complete smile

She was the envy and birth of beauty
and the jealousy and creation of desire
and the first of all dreams and things to come

With her flesh and her limbs and body
and heart complete and whole
and his worn out to near nothing
they made love without their lips touching
or kissing or sighing or moaning
or making any noise at all
and without their hands sliding
or gliding or holding
or their limbs twisting or tangling
or bending or contorting
they plunged through love
and fell into the river
and walked over the mountains
and tip toed past the sleeping gods
of old and forgotten lore
and danced and slept
in the fires of eternity
until she had dreamt of making him
and he had forgotten of making her
and both stories were true
and both only a dream
and some where in the distance of the past
where the time before once lived
and death and dream and love
once fought and lost and won
the wars and battles of long ago
something smiled and then vanished