You smile as my iris go wide,
watching me stir wake to the realization
you are once again by my side.

In another life I would've jumped out of bed.
But in this one I am paralyzed;
I'd rather lay here with you instead.

Its not often we find ourselves lost to time
like this.  
A soft caress, a kiss.
Your head nestled on my chest.

You close your eyes
slipping-it seems-back into deep rest.

I like moments like this best.
Its the greed in me that ponders how to
prolong this state of superposition.
Not really asleep nor awake.
The world hasn't claimed stake over us yet.
With dejected protest,
my mortal form rejects the cold logic
that this scene- like a dream,
no beginning or end, only lasts
a few seconds more.
You yawn and I gleam how this will all change.
I feel the heat of an asteroid erasing
my world of the dinosaur.

You tease as you stretch,
something about how loud I snore.
In our sunday morning jest I see
infinite solutions,
stitched together, like the seam work
of your favorite duvet.

(With all these diverging paths,
how can I only pick one way?)

I know what's coming next,
can hear what you will soon say.
It's reverberating in my ears already
as you ponder the problem of wasting away
on this lovely,
summer day.

Your form is obscured from my vision.
A silhouette deciding between jeans or a dress.
Fighting with your hair, proclaiming it a mess.
The whole of you obscured by the wall partition.

You blow a frustrated raspberry which
makes me smirk.
Mutter under your breath,"I guess this will work."
I hear you ruminate in the restroom,
pairing accessories with a flowery blouse and a pencil skirt.

All the while humming a tune from a song
we both know.

Its time now.
Time to let that sliver of a scene we shared earlier go.
I can feel warmth through our window.
that moment I loved has grown into something new,
and I'm left with the dissatisfaction-no,
that is a childish reaction:
even though that scene is gone I know I tried.

Fully dressed in the doorway she chimes,
"what would you like to do today?"

I cover my head.
Playfully hide in the shelter of our
satin white sheets.
Shaking my head from left to right.
A seance with the ghost of where she used to be.

I can't decide.

-

Hot water lap dance
Feeling quite comfortable
Tide urges me onwards
Line fishes for something
Along edges of mountainous
Erupting horizons vapour dissolving
Passing clouds blue sky thinking
Revision of indignant existence
Not feeling much for a while
Pittance good riddance and guile
World revolving around the child
Locked inside away from myself
Disconnected coming up with plans
Sometimes prefer doing nothing
Just neglecting my health
That’s okay still alive to tell the tale
Now just need to execute in the name of sacrifice
Make the journey up to now worthwhile
For every moment of doubt and pain
Hope and distraught freedom
Despite the shame already
Would be even worse to waste
The opportunity have been given
So let the gift not be in vain

A white flower
Has bloomed on my porch
Small glistening raindrops
Fall below it
Seeping into the grass and its concrete
The morning sun shines
Over the horizon
Wishing better days
To those below
I think of you
As the mist blinds my eyes
As the crow cries at the mourning
Today the sun shines
Between the dense pillows
And masks the glint between my pupils

With colours gone
Grey, forlorn
The sky a puddle, muddy morn
I have no tears
I give thee thorns.

Where laughter lived
To once exist
The room aswirl, silent cyst
I have no tears
I give thee mist.

When passion played
And love was made
Fingers clasped and grasped in vain
I have no tears
I give thee reign.

There's nothing like
waking up at dawn.
The plants and the trees
are bare.
Each blade of grass
is either brown or green.
The quiet demands silence.
Even the cats
that follow
me outside
lower their heads
to show some respect
to the quiet.

I collapse, surrendering
to the rocking chair
My eyes still heavy
from only having a few hours of sleep.
The pills haven't worn off yet.

A half-smoked cigar is in my hand.
I take it to my lips
flick the Bic
and give it a long kiss.
Inhaling enough smoke
to fill my lungs.
Leaning back in the chair
I release a stream
of smoke.
Sitting there watching
nothing happen.
It feels good.

Until my mind starts up again.
Like a record on repeat.
The static
and flashes of
all the episodes
with every word
drowning my brain
with loads of cheap whiskey.
I question myself,
Will I be able to make it today?
Can I outrun
this hurricane
at least for
another day?

It's awkward being around so
much stillness and having a
tornado inside.
From a perspective of
someone people watching
I'd just look like a normal lady
sitting outside enjoying
their morning cigar.
They're partially right,

It was a **** good cigar.

I'll always remember the mornings at home.
Where no one was happy, where everyone swore,
where sadness and anger mixed together and formed

a moody gray. Like the one in the sky before the sun came out
that almost looked blue against that house.
Probably because nothing could have had so little color
as a 7'am morning at home.