Two
Bodies caressing each other,
Complimenting the skin tones,
As they touch one another.

Perfectly synchronised,
The same but different.
A song so perfect,
It stays on repeat.
A melody so divine,
The dance is locked in your feet.
Their voice adds a sultry bass to your ear,
The rhythm of your heart,
Skips a beat.

The highs meet the lows,
And the ears begin to ***** up,
A love making duet you suppose.
To taste the sound of sweetness
to hear the emotion of love,
To see the chords of heat
To feel the harmonies of passion.

Mixes and blends
of the tongue-twisted music.
The emotions profound,
felt from tap and synth.
An audience of two
Hear the touch of rhythmic blues,
As the piano keys play,
And a guitar riff ensues.

I thought the trash bag was a bunny
will I live long enough
intense love cannot merely be painted over with a crisp new brush
the grass under my feet sinks like a freshly dug grave
thoughts of predictability more overwhelming day after day
knowing the system and the routine
sinking though my grave to the cavern below
I find a sense of comfort in my own abyss of black thoughts
have I wandered so far down that I am now lost
to what it means to be my scarecrow
my mind drifts once more to the trash bag bunny
I wish to die where the Autumn leaves place their crown atop my head
in the hidden wood, far below the cavern where all is enveloped
filled with trash bag bunnies and no more worries

The Earth cried that day
the day her mother fell to slumber
ne'er again to wake
one resounding crash, boughs intertwined in perfect array
her colors fading, losing their deep hues of umber
the world over shuddered with such a quake
for the fairies had forgotten their way

*Dance for the trees and not the tithes
thus fell our Mother
The Tree of Life

_ cannot write what _ want to say,
_ cannot paint the image in _ mind.
Or the feelings bound inside with thickened ropes,
used to hold a steamer ship to dock,
with diameter of a sailor's mid-waist,
encrusted with salt from the ever pressing fault
pulling its weight down compressing faces to frown
scrunching together in depressing formation as a flock of gull feathers
incessantly wash ashore bringing round to the lessening image
that draws you back from the metaphorical,
analogical, imaginary
oceans edge,
to the starboard side of a deck on a steamer ship,
to the battered ropes
that suppress emotions under.

Under an ocean,
occasionally escaping through thimble-sized samples
freed from the depths to race upwards in streamlined-bubbles
to break the surface and burst
that released
category three, Hurricane Miriam
which harmed no one but herself
because though she roared at one-hundred twenty miles an hour,
no one took warning.
Because who would be wary of her,
when she didn't even break land,
she didn't even break surface,
didn't even break in,
even break through,
break her,
broken.