With marmalade hair of feathered curls,
I stare into azure eyes, touching my heart,
meandering down a freckled neckline,
after humming a hymn into rose-colored lips.

Her angel wings retracted,
covered with filigree embedded lace,
a corset of purple velvet orbits her core,
I fall upon her like dawn on the day.

In a castle room warmed with tapestries
upon stone walls as old as the galaxy,
ancient eyes stare out at us,
from a portrait of a long-lost ancestor.

A smile touches the lips,
as parchment paper cracks,
a ghostly approving moan,
mixes with ours.

Through the portal of my mind,
I never know what I might find,
animals talking or a visiting alien,
synapse snapping, having fun.

Shredded bits of shiny paper,
reflecting flashing Christmas lights,
unwrapped gifts piled by owners,
the now empty stockings rehung.

A sleepy grin on the faces in the room,
Polar Express plays on the TV,
as hot hot hot, hot chocolate is passed,
texts cause phones to Jingle Bell.

Merry Christmas and love you guys,
sent from all over the world,
and returned with plenty of emojis,
as the smell of ham, roasting wafts in.

The cat plays with a stray bow under the table,
tossing and shredding the green ribbon,
the dog watches uninterestedly,
as she chews on a Christmas bone.

Slamming doors and angry screams,
revving engines and broken dreams,
lipstick print on my cheek,
my stuff thrown out, I'm up a creek.

Late for a date with my girl,
I'd never cheat, she is my world,
been fishing all morning down at the lake,
headed home stopped with a broken rake.

Ol' Mrs. Watson backed over, headed to town,
she asked me for help with a little frown,
two flat tires on her truck,
had them off and fixed she was in luck.

Kiss on my cheek as a thank you,
little did I know that I was *******,
walked in the house feeling happy,
my girl saw the lipstick and her hands got slappy.

Slamming doors and angry screams,
revving engines and broken dreams,
lipstick print on my cheek,
my stuff thrown out, I'm up a creek.

So I leave, head back to the lake,
still, have some beer resigned to my fate,
While I pout, Mrs. Watson calls my house phone,
my girl was crying, sitting all alone.

Hello, she says, and Mrs. Watson says hi,
just wants to thank me again, says I'm a hell of a guy,
oh no she thinks what have I done,
have I ******* up and lost the one.

Here she comes crying down to the lake,
picnic and a bikini and begging mistake,
suns going down, skinny dipping apologies,
I tell her its okay with a final squeeze.

Slamming doors and happy screams,
revving engines and growing dreams,
lipstick prints on both my cheeks
back to the house tangled up in the sheets.

To rise above,
or sink below,
the masses squirm,
inside this hole.

A mediocre pool,
of writhing sin,
where you swallow,
to fit in.

Gulp your pride,
repress your dreams,
dance the conga,
to their screams.

The Kool-aid is sweet,
slow poison filled,
the antidote is
a strong free will.

The choice is yours,
to buck the mold,
their origami,
will you unfold?

Or shall you drink,
from their glasses,
and be one of,
the zombied masses?

From the Oak cask pours the golden remedy,
filling a snifter and like a crystal ball diviner,
the future of this cold evening is evident,
frost flowers already forming out my window.

With the first sip, and the delicious burn
the muscles relax just a bit, and a sigh escapes,
the week's demon releases his grip a bit,
I shall banish him in the hours to come.

Sweet Melody emerges from the bedroom,
she moves like her namesake,
music in motion incarnate,
as she walks by, I steal a kiss and a smile.

The fire crackles and pops across the room,
raging flames there and deep within my core,
she says pour another drink and join me,
as she burrows into blankets in front of the pyre.

blue-grey dreams attack,
melancholy clouds drift by
blanketing my soul