Sharp and dangerous.
That's what you think when you hear about them.

"They'll **** you quicker than you could blink"

"You'll hear the soft ****** of charms, spurs, and then it's over"

"The gunslinger- now he's straight from hell, no one could out draw that man, no matter what gun you have"

"I've always heard you had to watch the swordsman, he's like a ghost, never know where he'll be"

Now, I knew next to nothing about them.
Everyone they visited usually ended up dead.

Hard to confirm.

Standing here and looking at them though...

These soft men, all smiles, joking, relaxed.

I don't know about the stories but they're sharp and dangerous alright, etching their mark on my heart.

They aren't known for asphyxiation, but they sure stole my breath.

Evening colours
come crooning to me in the swallows
flying by:

saucers in the sky,

as I wait for the bus

that will go and halt on the wall
in my living room.

The evening is somewhat dull now,
let me hurl a few stars
at the horizon:

I have a dozen in my purse.

All of them gifted by you,
collectibles, kissables.

My tiara princess, the hair-band
is your secret wand.

Ah, my leg, it's
stuck in Grosvenor Road.

So I hurtle back. and loop forward.

Folding memories neatly into my
back-pocket.

There's a Divergence Theorem
gone missing here, volumes
are not going sheet-smart.

I want my nj's.

I could drown in those dimples.