Floating as a Taraxacum caught
On a slow mischievous breeze
I found you my little dandelion

© Edward Cousins

Pardon me while I wipe this ******
spit out of my mouth.
Speak and write improperly
Bathe in holy water to wash
away the sins off my body

less charming and loving  
then you would expect

it might not had been what it was
but it left a bad taste on my tongue.  like taking five shots of whiskey
and licking your ashtray

I tried to stray far beyond
your ripped and shady nylons
the bloodletting on your stained sheets
where I will never sleep

try not to **** me on the way home
I should have stayed where I belong
the dark pool room
the underbelly of a red light saloon

I get  paid again next Friday
not that im going to give you any
''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
ru­in my beautiful morning from
nine till 10 am. spare yourself refusal from
five till seven
thick thighs emotional charged

I have hard boiled eggs
a dog snoring on the floor
a pain in my neck
and my arms and ankles, their nerves are jumping towards the door
heat is up to high IM sweating
like you the *****

Bukowski wrote a song
it is scratching, the needle
typewriter with a loud roar
I cant recall the wine
but the short cigarettes were brown
eyes squinting
I listened like a boy to him, and you
you and your drunk salutes and slurs
commanding a performance from my soul
as if you were Sylvia

such a stupendous, gracious love story
IM haunted by your stare
I do not even think you are here
after all you are a ..... no,
there is really no time for this

the whiskey on my lips you adore
IM sick against a wall and
people are statues above spitting
their teeth below
statues on a wall urinating below

my angst kisses you all farewell
may my spirit fly today
pain grows in the dark

all ye gather,elephants in the room and hall
i hunker down under the blue glow
of the evening news
hiding from both of you

Old mans hands Were charmed
Balancing as a bird on tree limbs
Flowing through a song as if he wrote this for her heart
Bellowing in deep decibels he begins to shatter
Trembling in site of broken faces
Pounding hammers on his once bright skyline
Casting black shadows against his walls and ***** floors


The world is a spinning canvas of articulate brushes
Partially to blame for backdrops of darkness
Well aware of colors hiding ,behind voices
Elbows on tables of sadness, rusted or splintered
Tacked down under the dock, of high tides of self pity
Lack there of compassionate crows
on heavy shoulders of Druids

I look down and see the shadow of a pelican
Flowing and gliding across the open water
I dare to look up in amazement at His Eyes
Staring at me
I trust he is flying for me, I start to believe
His Presence of strength  and Pressures to dream.
Something to fight for
For if not! Then this revolution I search for
is just a war ...

Jolee
if I could serenade
I would portray a song
about how I never came to
Hollywood
to see you dance in a smoky, distinguished ballroom
or a whiskey saloon
the way your eyes stared at me
from across the great divide
I felt like I could not breathe

time crept down to a moment
I feel IM in the wrong place at the wrong time
IM just writing this for you
because its all I can do

sunlight in a meadow, dancing
off the tips of your hair.
your words ,smile and skin
glinting off the firelight
in a cabin room, with roof coated in snow

I create a cliche eternity
because I will never know

I feel the feather of hair
Across my closed eyelids
The smell of your eyeliner, Your lipstick
Ripe as apples red

Emerald canvas below this beloved brow
sharp as a diamond

A palette to a French painting
Style and grace on the river broad

I, like you! inherited this dream
Of passion and heart for
A casual stroll with umbrellas, to block the sun
Through the parks and slow strides
and thee  ripples of water along the canals

I cannot just sit hear and try to comprehend
The beauty of your perfume
I try to gather senses
Of the softness of your lips
The overwhelming beauty of your song

In Paris painting a picture of a valentine

© Edward W Cousins. All rights reserved