The hail poured on the grey pavements and Juliette sighed as she looked out her car window, it was a rainy night in Syracuse, although she didn’t mind it as she loved the scent of the dew falling, she was a girl with an eccentric nature living in a world of other humans acting as ghosts.

She drove her small, decent car into the university’s under-ground parking and breathed a sigh of relief as she found a tight, clear opening, she placed her car there and exited to close the door behind her as she felt her skin tingle, there was a presence that was glowing and waiting. Her sixth sense was powerful and never failed her in any way, she turned her head and gasped as blazing scarlet eyes faced her, she whispered in fear, “You must tell me, who are you?” even though she felt as if her skin was frozen while opening her phone’s light to see the strange one before the shining eyes widened and the figure vanished.

It took a while for Juliette to regain her mental composure and balance, she was mystified by what the iridescent pupils wanted from her, although her mind was aware that couldn’t receive her answers for now. Eventually, she straightened her shoulders and walked to the parking elevator to reach the 3rd floor of her college and attend her classes, time passed as she listened half-intently to professors teaching their classes, for Juliette’s mind was too taken by the mystical encounter she went through as the day turned to darker skies and her academic day soon came to a close.

While driving home she listened to her favored jazz CD before her thoughts turned to making a visit to the local bookstore near her house, “It will have to wait till tomorrow”, she thought, “I’m tired after a long day of excessive socialization and I have loads of homework to finish”, she reached her house on James Street and tiredly walked up the stairs to her room.

After finishing all her homework and cleaning her room, she emailed her parents to let them know she was home and typed about her day before resting her head on the desk and sleeping.

In her dream, Juliette stared wistfully into the night sky from a field dreaming of her prince to come, her being, heart, and chest filled with love and seeking to share it with something other than the moon as she heard it's white lunar language, “perhaps he will not be a prince, but a monster” and her eyes fluttered open, she arose and entered her bed, wondering to herself about the meaning of the dream before closing her eyes once more.

The golden sheets of sunlight streamed through the home’s clear glass windows and touched the fair skin of Juliette, her thick, light brown hair was now a tangled mess as she struggled to brush it, her honey-colored eyes gazing into the mirror and seeing a bedraggled girl that need retouching. After an hour passed, she finally was satisfied with her smoother, wavy hair adorned with dark hair clips and a casually chic outfit as she walked out of her home.

Today Juliette was pleased with her course-free day, so she spent it walking from her house to the “Books and Melodies” store, upon entering she smiled in contentment at the beautiful sight of the used books and records, she wandered by the books until her eyes stopped at a certain classic she liked. It was located on a shelf a little bit higher than her short, 5’5" height, so she was required to rise onto her toes to even see it until a hand inhumanly whiter than snow took it, Juliette said with a shy voice “I wanted that book…” until her voice was interrupted by his velvet-voiced introduction, “Hello, my name is Roche” he spoke with full lips curling up into a smirk, “If you need this book, find another copy”, while Julietta could only stare at his rich raven hair, delicately sharp jawline and slender, ruby eyes before she managed a few words, “You can call me Juli”, to which he gently laughed as he leaned down to meet her gaze with his smoldering eyes and placed the book in her hands, “I apologize for my mischievousness, this is the book you desired”,  Julietta felt light headed before she mumbled, “wait, I know those eyes from before, I’ve seen them in a certain parking lot” before he calmly said, “I don’t believe we should continue this conversation” as he vanished into thin air.

Julietta was unsettled, by both his elegance and his sudden disappearance, though she could not do anything more for now, so she paid for her book and left the store, while still being a little emotionally shaken. When she returned home after a long walk, Julietta rested and had a vision of Roche with his perfect features and emotional gaze mesmerizing her senses as they held together in a field of roses.

The dream ended when she awakened from her sleep after hearing a deep-throated snarl and her eyes turned to see a white, inhuman monster with pitch-black eyes in her room ready to attack until Roche appeared into view and ripped the beast’s neck with his teeth, his eyes then blazed and widened after seeing Julietta with a near-tears expression, he walked to her slowly and embraced her, “Juli..” as he held her closely, “I am so sorry that you had to see that” his jaw firmed and continued, “But I promise to always protect you from harm” to which Julietta, with her broken voice, murmured “I will trust you, Roche, but please don’t ever vanish when I need you the most” to which he whispered, “I will never, never again leave your side” and they kissed deeply and profoundly to seal their silent promise to never part.

The seasons passed, and the love of Julietta and Roche grew greater in strength and passion, they made preparations for their marriage until the special day arrived and they celebrated with the families of Juliette and Roche, the specially invited singer was a close friend of Juliette, and he sang his final song for the night:

“The princess of roses says to her prince, "My only, comprehend how there is so much to exist for and relish, I am here in your eyes for our elysium, in the longer hours of this night, let us be lost", the white doves above the dark green trees flew by the pearly clouds as they remained near to each other with their fates untold.

Juliette's back
is a shapely cello.
Her hair trailing softly
plays a deep, sad,
mahogany melody.
'La musique malheureuse'
her soul whispers.

But in the morning
she will stretch out,
throw the curtains wide
and light will shine through her.
When she speaks
her harp-like heart
will play a pretty tune.

Old World Juliette, it is a sad day which has come true.
My skill with the English language failed me
And I said things which no man should ever say to you.

We did come to date for a while like I had wished,
But then it all came crashing down around us
Because of those ill-advised words which I said
In worse-fated moments of desire and despiration.

I wished to be the one, your protection against the world
But all I did was turn and cut you down again.
I claim to be a Modern Day Romeo,
Thinking of us as star-crossed lovers destined to be,

But we, like the original pair of this namesake, are fated to be separated
By the poison I have taken, crafted by my own hand
And put in each arrow of each word to you I had spoken.

Then, in Juliette fashion, I came out of my stupor to find our love dead,
Poisoned by my vial - by the vileness of my own creation,
Stopped before the budding love-lily ever truly started growing.

Oh you and your *** appeal,
But with a heart that does not feel.
Time and time I've said goodbye,
The I say lets give it another try.
But it would be a lie,
A lie to say that your heart does not feel.
And to give it another try,
Would be like sliding on a banana peel.
A man with a heart of gold.
Wouldn't I be so bold,
To say,
That it was our story being told of a Romeo and Juliette.
That the time for us is not yet.
What a bet!
Like a jester who dances for the King and Queen.
Let's say its somewhere I've already been.
If it had been foreseen,
The lesson would of already been learnt and,
The girl already burnt.

Words are auspiciously chargeable, and none more so than dynamic.
One ought never find oneself to be compromising the feeling of seeing something
for the first time, the ambitions of a romantic imagination,
for the overtures of adulthood austerity. Nothing is as void, or
irredeemably defeated, as a desire to open oneself to holidays by the hour, open
only three times a year to the feeling of rich, warm neurological
flow of these feelings. But when you see it in someone, how do you let that someone
know what you think of them, and still be adult? Of course,
in repertory galleries and leafy city-outdoor sculpture museums,
at the bustling dinner tables of locomotive-speed European restaurants
and at times when liquid-crystal green glowing playlists
of sombre jiving guitars, drenched in wine, are most appropriate.
Thankfully, this way looks like a panel of canvas, broken up with obliques
of red. If not yet adult, I hope its playfulness will be enough; if poems are to be
dynamic like Juliette, then they need to learn to play, excitedly and secured.
  
In a fluorescent coffee cream glow of walls, in a Parisian
photography gallery I can’t say the name of— let alone
write—we are trapezing into Plossu’s dichromatic
vistas, leaning on the curb, the sand dune, and the rock.
You ask if I can hear the cicadas, the hum of Italian country in the heat;
when in this gallery, I could only hear the ultra incandescence of lights
percolating in the mezzanines, new clarity espousing with the knowledge
that Paris, and you, are both wonderful.

Yes it was when later, under a dousing of amber lamplight,
lying legs bent at the knee with poise, and their flurries we settled on a bedspread,
you stroking at the plexus curved round my libido, the cream top of two palettes,
me imaging brisk black leggings strolling gently over the tarmacadam,
the delta central to your collarbone and the breath from the valve in
your throat during a Latinate vowel.

Somewhere in this is included a constant sexuality and tempo, film reeled,
jazz drumming us on the back row of the theatre, touching for an instant,
noses, the distillation of character, and the glee with which
I can remember that Sheffield was good for an amble.
Somehow, lightly, we slept off modicums of speech platitudinising my fears;
and instead had pulses of an unfelt issue, which encouraged my
seeking of mythical and tautened realisations hereon.
The sound of your voice weaving reason was so nice, even the flyers
for life alterations didn’t turn up. (And they commonly do.)
Invariably first was your witticism and the red baubled trees,
hanging as the art lesson adventures of January children,
I was duly counselled on the court. And dually were your eyes,
obliquely there: sublime, looped, your irises were round, hypnotic,
like the bold city distilled in a noetic, emulsifying some trodden
exquisite foreground in the mind, the faint pathway of a childhood walk
wrapping me happy, and certainly pledging me warmth,
easily running a finger down the apex of my face in profile,
and pedalling breast stroke into expanses of memory pools,
dark hair tucked into a pink cap.

Should the memory continue to dive, meander and keep,
I would have it that it will usefully pacify me when I sleep.

For all of my self-proclaimed skill and finesse with the English language,
               For every single English and Lit. course I've taken, every last book I've read, and all of the papers I've written,
               I come to find that I am left at a loss as to the words to say to you on this subject
               Because of me being too bashful, too shy and too nervous, all in a blush when discussing my emotions, and
               I cannot be boisterous, I am unable to boast and roast, to showboat, I am incapable of acting my way through this
               For fear that you will perceive what I say as false emotions and label my words as untrue,
               So, in lieu of that, I will put it straightforward here, without gloss nor glamour nor anymore preamble -

               Would you consider dating a guy like me? Could you see yourself dating me? Would you date me and maybe someday be
               My girlfriend?
               Because I could see myself dating a girl every bit like you,
               And I just wish you knew how much

                         I want to kiss you so
                         That you might know, and more so, feel
                         What I feel for you now
                         Despite all that I cover and hide
                         With this noisy and verbose facade.

                         But, even more than that, I
                         Long to hug you, to hold you in my arms.
                         Such an embrace as you've
                         Never felt before and
                         - if left up to me -
                         The likes of which from another
                         You would never need.

                         I long to hold you in
                         Such a way that
                         You feel eternally safe, and
                         That space between my arms
                         Will ever be synonymous with
                         Safety, comfort, and the protection
                         That you seek out in the good times and
                         When the wide world grows scary and wild
                         And those out there try to bring you down.

               So there you have it, as simple and plain as I can make it - whether to the good or the bad - it's been said, and
               All that I can hope is that you know that I do mean every last word that you have just read.

Always undecided.
Always saying, I can't.
I don't know.
If not  now?
Then when?
I'm just asking.

Love's just floating in the air.
Just waiting for an invitation to participate.
But have no applicants applying.

If not now.
Then when will you let it happen.
Don't avoid the obvious.
Don't put on a pretense you're happy without it.
When it seems you're more sad without it.

Romeo had Juliette.
And Cleopatra had Mark Anthony.
So they knew it.
Even enjoyed it.
But when it comes to you.
You totally avoid it.

So I ask you.
If not now?
Then when.

If love is tied to the stars, and to fate,
to what seems to be just a fleeting dream-
Perhaps star crossed or maybe all is lost,
Will we know before the end of the scene?

Are there hints? If so, what do they mean?
What exactly, do all of these signs foretell?
Is there a theme amongst the clues, between
Half-hearted attempts at wishing well?

But on these things, we do not dwell-
Passions play should be a victimless crime.
No heaven, nor hell, nor friar, nor spell,
Could part us before our appointed time!

Can we live, with the world as our rhyme,
And as poets, play our songs to the part?
Would you be mine if I could divine
the secret melodies that lay in your heart?

So this I swear, before God, in this state-
To love you, as if this were our final scene.
And then forevermore, our love will endure
As an endless dream within our dreams.

The kiss, Alber knows,
is the sign of great love
or great betrayal. Juliette
presses her lips to his.

There is spittle there
Somewhere, but neither
cares nor senses any of that.

In between kisses she talks
of the pregnant black cat.

He remembers his first kiss,
that girl whose mother never
trusted him as a boy, gave
him his first joy. Where had
it been? he asked inwardly,
pressing his lips to Juliette’s,
ah, yes, in the porch of her
parent’s house, the moon
bright, stars out like sprinkled
sugar on an expanded black cloth.

And about their heads that
**** moth. Juliette saying,
funny how they have such
low bellies, pregnant cats,
and have so many. He moves
his tongue inside her mouth,
along her teeth, touching her
tongue, exchanging warm fluids.

He presses his hands onto her
buttocks, feeling the softness
through cloth. She silent now,
and there about their heads,
that big brown fluttering moth.

my paris begins with
those early days
as a conscious flaneur
i recall the couple
seated opposite me
on the metro
when i was still innocent
of its labyrinthine complexity
slim pretty white girl
clad head to toe in denim
smiling wistfully
while her muscular black beau
stared through me
with fathomless orbs
and one of them spoke
almost in a whisper
qu'est-ce-que t'en pense
and it dawned on me
yes the young parisienne
with the distant desirous eyes
was no less male than me

dismal movies
in the forum des halles
being screamed at in pigalle
and then howled at again
by some kind of madman
or vagrant who told me
to go to the bois de boulogne
to meet what he saw
as my destiny
menaced
by a sinister skinhead
for trying on tessa's
wide-brimmed hat
getting ****** in les halles
with sara
who'd just seen
dillon as rusty james
and was walking in a daze
sara again with jade
at the caveau
de la huchette jazz cellar

cash squandered
on a gold tootbrush
two tone shoes
from close by
to the place d'italie
portrait sketched
at the place du tertre
paperback books
by symbolist poets
but second hand volumes
by trakl and deleve
and a leather jacket
from the marche aux puces
porte de clignancourt
losing gary's address
scrawled on a page
of musset's confession
walking the length
and breadth of the rue st denis,
what an artist's paradise
(as juliette once wrote me).