Sometimes I forget what happened, but not completely, just as if I was in a haze.  I squint to see through the mist of my recollections and in that moment I feel ten thousand things at once.
I catch myself saying to you in my head, feeling it too, I Love You D - - - - -, and I smile and bask in it for a moment, proudly, warmly.  As soon as the words pass silently through my lips, I nearly remember.....
My chest tightens up and air can hardly enter and depart my respiratory system on their usual schedule.  The piano falls, crashes, louder than silence itself.  Steam escapes my eyelids as the pressure builds up all at once but not a tear passes through.  Every nerve in my frozen body is screaming and retching in terror at the thought and I feel the need to run as a child would to his sympathetic mother, but there is nowhere to go, nobody to run to.
I am alone.
I am alone.
I repeat it a thousand times a second trying desperately to process how something impossible like this could have ever happened.   The idea of you not being mine any longer can only be described as surreal and unbelievable, a feeling hauntingly similar to how that same mother felt when she received the ominous knock on her front door years later, the way she felt when the triangular bundle of patriotic fabric first made contact with her frail but steadfast fingers.  Liquid cold encompasses me as the blood drains straight to my feet and out through the floorboards.  All in that same moment I find the strength to inhale.  Like the jolt of emergency paddles, I snap back to life as the gears resume their rotations.

This was not just a dream.

I think sometimes you forget that I'm real.
Days pass by, a text message in the midmorning.
Another later in the afternoon.
Its been a while since you've told me "Goodnight".
It hasn't gone so undetected.
I keep myself defended. No photos, no updates online to remind
You that I'm human.
I've come to this conclusion as I drift further from you.
(not by my will)
I know it because I believe that when you and I are face to face once more,
When you hear my voice speak your name,
Hear its hollow inflections,
And see the shadows in my eyes,
You will remember.
It may not change everything or anything at all, but perhaps I'll no longer be
A robot, fictional character, or fading memory.

Justice is Blind-
   Is it not?
For in Our World, it is an eye for an eye.
But without eyes, how do we see Justice?
   Do we not?

I believed in it once.
When crime was a foreign conspiracy;
   Not a promised truth in this world of hurt.

So if justice is Blind.
   *Are we as clueless as our dictators?

Inspired by a vintage ****** postcard from the 1920s - 30s:

The Muse sits resplendent
caressed in sepia tones and pastel cream
gilded with the glaze of a bygone era
her silk Charleston negligee
worn proud like a vintage ornament
perched on an aesthetically pleasing
shapely pert insolent *****
blossomed with tiny beads of sweat
the heat of such anticipation
entices the pearls of the ******
to pamper and pleasure their perversions

etched as if in a radiance of candlelight
the flickering limbs pulse their bloom
nimble fingers of dancing shadows
cupping the feline curves of a chaise longue
the purposefully out of place set piece
the fantasy of a gentleman's reading room
caked in casked sherry
and Nat Sherman cigar infused aromas

her elegant pose sumptuous reclining
elbow length satin gloves
sensually wrapped in wanton desire
******* clasp a Sorbranie Black Russian
smoked like a sultry gypsy
with a fervent demeanour
from a silver opera cigarette holder
beckoning with the cats eyes of mischief
over Pinced nez eyeglasses
with a fascination imbibed
in the praxis of passion

the peach skin of refulgent youth
directs the viewer downwards, slowly
survey each contour of olive skin
and stroke every hidden cleft of fabric
to glimpse the nubile thighs of grace
leading the eye to the arch of an ankle
slipped like a fitted glove
nestled in the cleavage of her calf
and the chastity of future wonderment

the forgotten photograph
captures a period in time
the memories of the muse
now in motionless existence
a demure allure forever frozen
once lost, but now
never forgotten

I

  Calico Pie,
  The little Birds fly
Down to the calico tree,
  Their wings were blue,
  And they sang 'Tilly-loo!'
  Till away they flew,--
    And they never came back to me!
      They never came back!
      They never came back!
    They never came back to me!

II

  Calico Jam,
  The little Fish swam,
Over the syllabub sea,
    He took off his hat,
  To the Sole and the Sprat,
  And the Willeby-Wat,--
But he never came back to me!
  He never came back!
  He never came back!
He never came back to me!

III

  Calico Ban,
  The little Mice ran,
To be ready in time for tea,
  Flippity flup,
  They drank it all up,
  And danced in the cup,--
But they never came back to me!
  They never came back!
  They never came back!
They never came back to me!

IV

  Calico Drum,
  The Grasshoppers come,
The Butterfly, Beetle, and Bee,
  Over the ground,
  Around and around,
  With a hop and a bound,--
But they never came back to me!
  They never came back!
  They never came back!
They never came back to me!

Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread;
Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
All that was once so beautiful is dead.

Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, beloved,--
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.

For it was in my heart you moved among them,
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes;
And in my heart they will remember always,--
They knew you once, O beautiful and wise.