she was forever
the withered petals
of a beautiful sunflower
that never learned to bloom.

Odd man out
At the lion's funeral
Laughing hyena

A tortured artist’s muse, an abstract concept that could never truly be defined. Though, they tried. Aspiring Picasso’s came like passerby’s, setting up their easels, trying to capture the essence of a moment. An ever changing scenery in constant flux. A single clip of time, forever evading the masterpiece. There was only ever a beginning, as frustrations with the unrelenting storm tore the portrait to the ground with each passing breeze. They failed to see the beauty in starting each day with a blank canvas, always determined to brush every stroke perfectly into place before the sun set. The love for the view was lost, so desperate to embody it completely they forget to appreciate it entirely, as layers of color paint a picture of indifference. But tell me Pablo, would you label the bird as callous for wanting to leave the branch...or would you gaze with the all the wonder of life watching it flap its wings?

Fireflies will dance on columns of white wax above a tablecloth littered with silver and glass.
You’re going to brush your hair behind your right ear while smiling with your chin down.
A few more jokes and your hand reaches across the table as you lean in just a bit.
The check is paid discreetly and you excuse yourself to the restroom as the table gets cleared.
You come out of the restroom to be helped in putting your coat on just before you leave.
The two of you get to the car and just as he opens the door for you, you whirl around and kiss him.
When you finally slide into the seat and he shuts the door, our eyes meet but for a second.
I see pity.
You see some guy sitting there with his amber colored glass, and you know that’s all he has.