Nothing is certain anymore.
I used to know: I miss knowing.
I had decided he was the one.
Forever. For ever. Everlong. Everlast.
But it wasn’t everlasting.
And now?
I’ve lost the partner to my dream.

Begin again. Start once more. All over.
New introductions: new dynamics
It’s all different.
Unsettling.
Exciting – I’m thrown off balance.
Soo much to learn.
What’s beneath the ripply surface?
Open up, prise to sunlight; I must see.
Figure: are you the new ‘one’?

A replacement?
A new dream. A new adventure.
A thousand ways to see the world.
Perspective dominates so much.
I think we come from similar mind
- But unless you speak I cannot be certain.
“What’re you thinking?”
“Mmm… I don’t know”
It’s a gap
Between thought and mouth
- I’ve been there, I’ve felt it.
We need to build a bridge.

‘Put your trust in me, I’m not gonna die alone’
I don’t want to. Not alone.
I need someone to accompany me.
I want a family.
Who?
It feels like time to settle in.
Who?
I’m tired of this game
This uncertainty
Either let me be alone
- Impossible for me, I know:
I ***** too much up when I’m single.
Yet there should be growth there.
- Then let me be with the one.

I know there is no perfection.
But imperfections may compliment.
I know it takes work.
Communication.
Sacrifice.
Energy.
Time.
I know difference must be respected.
I know connection is of most importance
- Or perhaps a close second to support.
And love.

But love grows.
Even arranged marriages fall into love.
Why not choose?
The one with the traits
The dynamic that is desired
Love will come
It always does in the end
So long as resentment does not dominate
The dynamic is soo important!
And the lifestyle
- What am I willing to give up?
What does he desire?  

I’m over this dizzying romance game.
I’m throwing the towel in.
If not him, then someone else close by.
Because I’ve always had too many options.
And before that made me scared:
Given urge to ‘play the field’
Taste all within range.

Now, now, I am tired.
It’s nice to know someone’s intimacy
Exploring beneath the cloak:
Let me in, let me in, let me in.
I know it takes time
Let me in, let me in, let me in.
But trust me. Please?
Let me in, let me in, let me in.
Coz ******! I’m letting you in.
And ******! I want to show you my world.
And to see yours.
And when we escape this place,
Maybe just for a day or two,
But when we do,
It’s fricken beautiful
And we’re beautiful
And I know that.

Please. I want to fall into love.
Why not with him?

I hear the roar of your truck engine as you wait patiently atop my driveway

I slide on my sandals hurriedly, slip out the door
Dressed in a loose, ripply top with my favorite shorts
Bouncy hair and glowing skin
Edible fragrances dripping off my figure, into your nostrils, in which drag themselves to the lobes of your brain, the taste buds of your tongue

And you
With your golden rod complexion, form-fitting black t-shirt, exposing the contours of your sculpted chest, loose Bermuda shorts
Complementary ball cap and aviators
The faint hypnotic smell of sweat and my favorite cologne that compliments your natural aroma perfectly

A playlist of songs reminiscent of old memories
Singing
Dancing
Laughing
Crying
Beats on my eardrums
"Fat bottomed girls, you make the rockin' world go round!"
Our vocal chords stretch like rubber bands as we scream to these memories in motion

The beach is reserved for our use, or so we pretend
Together, we are alone on this small strip of land
I run to the sand, allowing my toes the comfort of such a familiar feeling
White hot, burning, tingling, relief within seconds as the warmth conducts and disperses across my skin

I unbutton my shorts and pull my top over my head, run to the waters edge in hopes of pleasure, alleviation from the gnawing humidity, liquefying my bones  
I submerge my head, fogging my mind, allowing complete relaxation to fill my entire being

I find you beside me as I surface for Oxygen
Beads of lake water cover you cheeks like melted snowflakes
You stand there, naked next to me, your clothes at shore

Your hands search my back, find the fasteners of my bra
1
2
3 un-clipped by your hungry fingers, which now travel to my hips
Tugging at the thin, lacy fabric covering my
innocence

Now, in your palm

And with your other palm you beckon me back to the sand as you say, with tender breathlessness,
"You're beautiful"
In which I believe you as I lie upon a sandy towel
As you carefully lower yourself upon me
As our fingers interlace
And our lips, thirsting for lust, bind together

We are one

We are love

some might say true evil is the one not deluded,
as it might be deluded by a crucifixion,
some might say true evil: a purity of it
is transcendent... spanning centuries
rather than generations to the widest extent
only counting 4, if not simply 3
to the extent of itemised history
of familial bonds; but some people say
many more other things
that require immediate attention,
but such things never acquire
the tongue of stress of attention
and economic change:
billionaires and **** victims as kin,
paupers and **** actresses if any...
or some debased fabrication
that might sway a political talk...
but i from no higher tier of
pride by print rather than pride by
thought...
a purity of evil by non-demanding
engagement but by simple observation,
an apathy...
for pure good would simply not exist,
too tempted into activity,
and i suppose changing the ontology
of narration: from eager feet to idle hands...
and so few being idle handed
and so many being idle footed...
a paradox emerges with the lost breeds of
horse hoofs... to the metallic cartwheels
of mercury movement quicker than water
in a time's measurement of two black holes;
but some still ennoble themselves
with the thought of a self, as if unique,
but far from unique, in the collective
of assortments of expression of such fictive
allowances non-representative of being
human as part but rather apart:
to invoke an invention of a god... a language
not spoken to be neighbours...
to be without a thought of a self,
to thus create the proto-cartesian equation
of post-existentialism:

"self"                             =                        analogue

who knows where the north of thought is...
and who knows where the guiding unit is that
might direct thought towards north to be northern...
or likewise the speed of light squared...
the essence of light in geometry, i shape,
for light be a straight line encapsulated
into the geometry of a straight line when
everything concerning it was to be squared,
made parabolic / wavy... ripply.

I walked this town with madness,
Where streets once full of gladness—
And I cried into the heavenly sky
That no sadness shall ever blow by
Upon this town of madness.

For all the churches and their bells
May ring warning about this hell,
But no bell can reach the drinking well
That drove this town to madness.

I turned around seeking that sound
That haunted every morrow—
That ripply wave that intertwines
And beckons us to sorrow.

I stood amidst this desolate town
That wore the well as its crown,
And every building knelt broken down
To hail the King of Madness.