'Twas Saturday, and the clothes abound,
were cruffled and lay in shabby state,
pants and shirts, to feet were wound,
   or carrumped in arms, a heavy weight.

“Beware the laundry, my dear child,
The smelly socks, the ***** sheets,
Beware the washer, with its center wild,
and shun the powdered soap, its scent deceits!”

She took the pile, and flung from hands,
the soap and smell she still dread,
so fast was she, with soapy brands,
and sprinkled it, through air it fled.

And, as in a relieved thought she stood,
The laundry soaked in waters warm,
in gurbling stream, as water should,
And sunk beneath the bubbly storm.

Swish, swash, swish swash! It clanged and bashed,
the cloth slwooshed back and forth,
the lid meeting its close was mashed,
She frolumped joyfully back in form.

“And have you vanquished the ***** clothes?
Come to my arms, oh clean one!
Wonderous day! No more dismay, bless the smell of rose!
For no longer sat a stinky ton.

'Twas Saturday, and the clothes abound,
were cruffled and lay in shabby state,
pants and shirts, to feet were wound,
   or carrumped in arms, a heavy weight.

Why is it* that I hold my breath,
and my heart stops beating?

My skin runs cold, and I wonder,
how much patience do I have left?

Why is it that when I think I've made it,
that I can finally exhale,
I find myself frozen in time?

You've become my rock,
I have to say, in this,
ever expansive planet, drifting,
among the vastness of outer space.

You're my sun, my North Star,
something warm that brings me home,
and I have to admit, this is,
a feeling I cannot kick.

You're my friend, as its said,
and I thank God for your smile,
your presence and honest jests,
you've made my life worth living;
you're the best.

My soul's hot pink,
like them bubble gum squares,
cool, strawberry fizzy drinks,
and a thick candy ice cream.

Those warm, glazed over doughnuts,
cupcakes with light sprinkles,
jelly beans, tufts of cotton candy,
and a tub of small macaroons.

My soul's hot pink,
like them candy hearts, sweet or ****,
chocolate coated easter eggs,
lolipops, and sugar rocks.

Those creamy cakes, fruity tastes,
of gum drops, frozen pops,
of sno-cones drizzled, cookie wafers,
and sweet marshmallows; smoothies.

Meet me in the 982.

Where the flowers grow,
pink, red; purple, blue,
and the sun always sets,
a hazy mix, a palette box, a painted mess.

Meet me in the 982.

Where dreams collide,
memories drift, wander, shift,
and the moon is white,
like fine porcelain cups; fragile chips corrupt.

Meet me in the 981.

Where your eyes are hazel,
or are they blue? Maybe green;
haven't you noticed, voices changed,
an ordered desk, books arranged?

Meet me in the 981.

Where thoughts like this,
conglomerate or dissipate,
haven't you ever missed a song,
a smiling face, is something wrong?

Meet me where the numbers touch.

Where colors smell and words taste,
where the universe collapses and reshapes.

Meet me where dimensions merge,
where mirrors break and lights fade.

Meet me in the 982,
where my heart will race,
waiting here for you.

"Women who wear hats are the most beautiful."

The way her small smile extends;
the brim of her hat protecting,
capturing its radiance.

Her cheeks, flushed a deep red,
darkened only by the shadows,
of the worn, woven straw.

Her eyes, a dark, vibrant brown,
dancing with soft melodies,
as she hums with warm breath.

"Women who wear hats are the most beautiful",
he said,
*"How interesting is that?"

"It's always that easy. The problem is, you don't want to bury it."*

Lock it away, seal the case,
never let it surface or touch your face,
a simple caress, a broken sigh,
it's about time you've said goodbye.

A memory pressed against my cheeks,
I haven't  heard from him in weeks,
it throbs, it hurts, it makes me cry,
why won't this incessant feeling die?

Living, breathing, beating soul,
why must you hurt me so?
Please rid me of this tattered heart,
mend me, lest I fall apart.

Burn it, ban it, **** it now,
these feelings you must disavow,
with fragile lips you kiss farewell,
may these pains part ways from me in Hell.

Thumbs fumble and caress,
exacerbated in mid-movement,
stress refusing to slip away.

Toes fidgeting, mouth stuttering,
eyes glossed beneath their cage;
warm lips sewn shut by breath alone.

Throat burning, stomach churning,
every sound becomes a bell,
every word garbbled; unnerved.

Soggy shoes, rain in blues,
the frigid water splashing,
on my toes; from heels it flew,
walking here, just me and you.

Poking fun, the water runs,
from my feet, from our cheeks,
my steps align, from puddles they lie,
you cast aside a funny glance.

One wrong step, feet and legs all wet,
what a mistake, the ripples make,
displaced by our steps within the rain,
perhaps they'll be okay.

What a gaffe, you just laugh,
these soggy shoes upon my feet,
the rain seems awfully cool, soft whispers said,
it's been nice spending time with you.