Atop a quilt
beneath  an oak

gauze dress
a pillow.

Hair a muss
Scent of rye;

no camera
only memory.

What is that flower I see?
While walking
Culloden pavilions

Sweet William
Sweet William
Sweet William

It may only be a flower
but it's story has power

to me
I see

Stinking Billy
Stinking Billy
Stinking Billy.

she hated the cold
bleak silence, for that's when her
thoughts are the loudest

cosmology teaches us
that we are not the centre of
the universe

She moved methodically with lucid dreams
  streaked through the fibers of her hair
Her skin was made from sheets cut from
  the clouds that drifted lazily over heaven
Her eyes where iridescent pearls stolen
  from the depths of the pools of paradise
She twirled lighting between her fingers
  and pulled magic out of coins
Her voice carried the soft comforts of
  thunder
And she often whispered of the smell of
  rain
While playing songs about november on
  the broken strings of a dead piano
She could hypnotize the flame of a candle
  and set the whole world ablaze
As she hummed along with the madness
  hidden between the wings of moths
She pulled cotton candy out of  thin air
  and blow smoke rings that tasted of
    whiskey and lust
Her lips were glazed with a tranquil poison
  that held the promise of love
While the honey dripping from her tounge
  warned of the suicde of romance
I stared a moment too long and found
  myself tangled in a lucid dream
    caught between life and death

Bad run
Good run
Felt good, slow time
Felt ill, knocked thirty seconds off best time
Nighttime pasta, prep meal
What a shocking run
Night on the town, wrecked
Knocked one minute off best time
My body's a nightmare
Just run, don't think
Okay, you're thinking
Push harder, maybe harder than that
The stopwatch is lying to you
New running shoes
The hills will make you stronger
Don't look at the mile signs
Keep a steady pace
Last two miles, push
Last mile, push a bit harder
The finish line
Your fun run is over
I don't see you laughing.