She called him, close to midnight,
his hello thawed her damp heart.
She stood silently, gripping it tight,
her knuckles, close to white.
She stood waiting some more,
unwilling to put the phone down, cut the call.
She heard a rattling breath followed by an "are you there?"
Tears fell fast as she said "forever and beyond"
She willed to give him,
a second chance.

Stripped bare of foilage
Stark branches sway naked
Seasons stole garments
Bright colors dully faded

Shivering in Autumn breezes
Wearing only dainty underwear
Waiting for snowfalls evening gown
To cloak bark from nature's stare

Curled toes tucked deep in cold hard earth
Fingers outstretched toward sky
Limbs too weak for ascending
Dried blobs of sap tears cried

My trunk hollowed out inside
Empty soul a hopeless pit
Green replaced by yellows and browns
Decayed leaves shedding bit by bit

Stress puts tension on boughs
Wood weakened under weight
Growing old as time increases rings
Til this dying tree completely breaks

I hate you sometimes
Because you exist
In every single guitar solo
And in every single crowd
I can hear your voice
Just around every turn.
Your eyes are always on me
Even when I'm alone
It's truly an intrusion
Of my privacy
I wish I minded just a little bit more
Maybe then, I could convince myself
That I don't really like you

And all of me knows
That we won't ever come close
To what I'm imagining
But you're older than me
I can picture you holding back
Watching me from the sidelines
As I watch you from the field
Our lives don't cross paths
Only a couple of times
But I can smell the chemistry
That heavy breath before a storm
Judging by that look on your face
When I catch you staring at me
I think you do too

A brownie being offered him,
the missionary cringes;

he's heard rumors,
messages have been passed on,
Sybils served tea and
chocolatte once fed gods
native to this chapparral where I dwell

with lizards and coyote, yote, like mote in y'eye

don't let the accent fool ya, said the preacher from his jet.
I say,

Wise ***** are not named otherwise, in The Bible, I mean.
SO,
lieve me being in the *******
is no missing of the message
wrapped
in Christmas ribs.

We've come quietly, adverbs being repre-ived,
at the moment
from stupid Tom Swifty readers, ****-flash

I hate lys, not because Stephen King does,
but be cause Herr Dunklesohn
mocked me
forn not recognizing a Tom Swifty as such.

Same guy told me Mrs. Malaprop was named for her
character-istic
intrusion of forced onset cognition ignition

the technic in fully articulated use of F and N in S
and M toned down to PG

when, gee, I think we're alone.

leaves us dangling near the source of Jonatan Edwards
actual
idea
the thread that holds us, for all we weigh in worthiness,

nada, right? so we ain't heavy. riiiight. bro. sos ye know,
this ain't me, we integrated, we crazy voices in the readers mind

we all sound the same so some same same-same
life goes down the drain

in one swirling direction from a solar POV, but bacwards,

not *******, blowing, in the wind, the answer,
my friend,

stupid chant an encantation from the substrata

think nothing
meditate
of it
sit

squirm and be a kid. You made it. This is the rest in the story.

We are
superficial beings
densely packed on the fringe
of histories in contact.

We’re torn apart
by discord from within
and rush together
when pressure rises from outside,

The balance of the two
along with our emphatic bonds
encapsulates our collective ego
defines how full we are
of ourselves.

Hands playing around
Skin touching abound
Craving for some connection
Hissing of secret conversations
Melting stares
More of this flare
Lingering of each other's perfume
Mimicking and smelling
Tension on the roll
Are you in?
Are we doing it?
Love just say it
Do you want me
Do you crave for me
Do you
Do it
You

XOXO

and your halo can be seen on november nights before the car starts
when our breath is cold in the air
and, for a moment,
your words can be seen instead of felt.

when i look out the window,
i see a streetlight.