Nothing short of
being loved as a child
would ever give me the
ability to make different
decisions than the ones
that led me to today.

Given a redo
with no change
I might have made
worse decisions.

With that in mind
I am inclined to
stop despising
the little puppy of regret
that follows me
wherever I go,

empowered
to bend over
and pick it up

and allow myself
to love it
for what it is.

hello, old friend,
it's been a while.
i forgot what it was like
to see you smile.
like the Heavens opened up
and stardust rained down,
my luck of finding you...
i don't know how.
you grab my waist and pull me in,
your lips touch mine
through the obsidian wind.
hello, old friend,
i've missed you some,
your eyes help melt away
some of the numb.
which is funny, i know,
since they're glaciers themselves.
but they've melted my heart
since the time we were twelve.
but, old friend,
not much has changed? every strike of the clock
you take my breath away...
the key to my lock.
a feat not easy,
when my aura is as dark as it is.
i long for the day
i will again taste your lips.
hello, old friend,
it's been a while.
thanks for reminding me
what it's like to smile.

An urn
slung on shoulder
braced in place
by smooth cream
slender
arm
and crease of curl covered neck.
Another urn
held on tip of hip
as if a mother yearns a child's weight
Toga frozen in flow,
fanning its tail by ankle
above sandalled foot and petite toe.
smirk outdating mona's,
below cute nose
framed by soft marble cheeks
wishing hints of rose
Grecian girl looks vacantly down
oval eyes void of iris and pupil.
Thoughts unknown.

She was like music,
and I longed to dance.

Her heart was the beat,
and I begged for the chance.

Her words were the vocals,
and I was put in a trance.

Her smile was the melody,
and I fell in love at first glance.

When the yellow day coppers to dusk
I paint my weary eyes dreams.

They nudely wade the crabhole muds
for marks of the great marksman
climb up the chunks going into tides
tiptoe through the needle roots
sniff a wind that smells of stripes
thrilled
death if comes
would be a momentary stir
a dangling cloth
resting on the trail of blood, marking,
someone ventured.