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Don't sleep with her-
Love her.
Don't smile at her-
Hug her.

If you're there then let yourself be known,
She'll only understand if she is shown.

Don't just look, touch.
And don't, don't ever, think too much.
I will send you my love
In a little glass bottle.
The memories we shared
inscripted in the scroll
I will throw it into the sea
Somewhere near fiji
And leave our love
that use to surround me
behind in the turquoise water
Drifting where ever it may
Not to be found tomorrow.
-this is a poem off poem
There are times in each our lives
We think our day can’t possibly get any worse
Everything is going wrong
And it really hurts

We find that it’s so hard to see the sun
Because of all the clouds
But there is still a ray of hope in there
That can still be found

The hand of time heals everything
Life can throw at you
The sun will shine on you once again
This you will pass through
Copyright *Neva Flores @2010
www.changefulstorm.blogspot.com
Unknown, unseen
       difficult to understand

Hiding true intentions, behind foggy gazes
Unknown to predictably, never known to whats next

Obscurity
       overwhelming darkness succeeds over light
nothing is seen through the eyes

A voice is spoken, yet not heard
       all is sound and forgotten

Through the eyes, nothing
       blurry visions, welling tears

Pressure pushes against resistance
       until the **clear
I have a strange dream
seen in oddest of nights -
the one where I'm bouncing
on an old grist stone
that is spinning awfully fast.
with every push of hands to get free,
gravity pulls me back down
and I'm erasing.
first fingers and toes -
we could live without those -
but then it's elbows and knees

I eventually give up all hope of escape
and actually enjoy the ride for a bit
but opening mouth to say "ahhhh,"
I'm flung loose by centrifugal force,
and in epiphany, realize that
teeth had been griping the axle.
I could have been freed so much sooner
if only I'd let go first.
of course, by then not much was left
a mere twenty five pounds of finely marbled roast,
head still attached, but quite useless

frankincense smoldered in censers
when priests dressed in lacy
white wedding gowns
patted me down with fresh linen and silk.
the head they hacked off and discarded,
the gray not much used
but useless as transplant
and salesman refused it on trade-in.
they anointed dead flesh
in scents of rare oils
and spices imported from India,
solemnly transporting the meat to a pit
built just in front of the altar.

Young boys wearing dresses
took turns at the spit
making mean faces,
but only when no one was looking,
their tobacco juice joining
my fat drips spattered on coals.
finally I was done cooking,
three hours of basting,
and arranged with bruised fruit
on a huge silver platter with handles
that my wife rented just for the occasion.
steam shimmered over din
of all my friends, who were seated,
and family, too, dressed for a luau
in bright floral prints and grass skirts.
After a short blessing, they dug in.

When feeding was done,
dripping chins wiped from curtains
hung loose from the ceiling,
all seated agreed
the meal had been tasty,
though meat a bit gristly and greasy,
especially slices cut close to the edges.
a fat policeman called them to order
and somehow I read from a speech
by chance I had prepared in advance,
like a letter or even a poem,
in which I contritely confessed
I'd always wished to have been more,
but meal finished, and dishes clearing
at least now I'd always be with them.
Conscience, consuming.
My stomach has turned inside
and in on itself.

My eyes have rotted
and reduced to such lifeless,
stationary orbs.

Today is the day,
I ***** my weaknesses
to teach myself strength.
© Kayleigh Redwine May 23rd, 2010
Written as a Haiku sequence.
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