I don't want to write about the cold, the wind,
The rain or these January doldrums.
England at this time of year is desperate and depressing,
And I'm longing for warm breezes, nighttime teases
A pregnant, chuckling moon at midnight. August dances,
Wild advances, stolen, secret, hungry glances.
Magic, confusion, summer scents
BBQ, Samsara, Bacardi and Cava,
And the kind of flowers that try to impregnate you with their scent;
Smell me! they plead,  then kiss as I burst, spilling my pollen,
Blessing the union of your hungry, eager mouths.
January is barren but August is ripe, heady, ready,
Moist and pulsing, life is in the air,
Flee the doldrums, take me there.

The rain makes your
veins look like
dark black bra straps
underneath a veil of Topshop sale items-
the bangles were bought elsewhere.
Though it's not their size that worry me,
it's what look lives within your eyes
every time you run a finger up your arm
and back down your arm again;
the charm in your slightly curling autumn leafed smile
curls a little more, turning smooth lakeside skin
into Nile-esturay wrinkles that say save me Tim.

Your red delta cheeks pulsate
in the late afternoon sun coming in on
a diagonal through the newly installed,
doesn't quite close properly, velux window;
you ran through fields only
to end up teary eyed in the kitchen
doorway threshold.

But here, here is where your river 
meets my sea, and turbulent tides
swell up to ferry us away to new coastline
continents:
forget we ever swimmed and swam,
poured sand from our shoes,
held hands and ran, and
forget we held hips on train station steps,
shared lips, left and then hid.

*When you see this you'll know it's an apology

If laughter is the best medicine
then this explains why there are so many unhealthy people.
Too many people got the SAD's Condition;
                 It arrives usually within 2-4 weeks of compromising one's inner child after crushing up      
                 some sparkly dreams and flushing them in the *******.
                                        Symptoms include:
                1) A black-hole bitter disposition
                 2) Snapping at little things like having to wait 5 in a checkout line
                    or making dramatic sighs after repeating a question a few times.
               3) Reminiscing about terrible things and never forgiving and  
                   letting  go, like having your mom sign your life away to a cult or  
                   being told that your dear sweet Aunt who helped raise you kept
                   looking for you in the hospital every time your name was called
                   even though you never saw her because your family thought it  
                   best you kept your distance or hearing the morose silence of a
                   stillborn newborn.
                4) Finding your serenity at the bottom of a bar room floor inside a
                   gin bottle.
                5) Finding your solace in a married woman who eats all kinds
                    of colorful shaped pills for breakfast.  
                                      


And if a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down,
how much can you add before the medicine loses its flavor?

They say truth is bitter,
yet I find that hard to believe
considering it feels so good to say.
It's like a cinnamon peppermint flavor on the tongue
with an aftertaste of jalapeno tears.

Maybe I'm so used to the processed hydrogenated extra sugar kind
that's why I go right for the pure hard stuff,
and maybe that's why a laugh so much.  
Maybe that's why people consider me a cuckoo fool....