tight silk ******* with the lilac bra to match,
cream coloured knee high socks.
a collection of classic rock on vinyl and a compliments jar covered in news articles.

too many celebrity perfumes, but a versace collection that makes her think of the beach;
peach smelling deoderant.

chapter books on the floor accompanied by hair ribbons of baby blue and cotton candy pink,
****** by Vladimir Nabokov laying near the juvinile pale legs of beautiful sixteen,
as she paints each toe nail red, pink, white.

almost naked body, remember her tight, fresh lace set
hair perfectly auburn, lips perfectly light coral
mouth slightly open
Led Zepplin playing.
hairspray and rose powder,
unlit vanilla candles and twilight scented creams
she smells faintly of Modern by Banana Repulic and her daddy's cigarettes.

silently waving, a flag of patriotism
the beautiful, elegant sixteen.

-part 1

conceptcollection

summer nights, outdoor bar fights, the smell of alcohol on men's breaths
cigarette fumes from her dolly friends and the smell of leather in her hands
***** converse and scraped knees
tired eyes and gentle caressing
tired, tired little girl
getting lost within a big world-.

tangled in white silk sheets, listening to his records
while he fixes them a drink
hair smelling of perfume, her body soft as satin
and the pillows like beautiful pastel clouds
silent shifting and awkward positioning, don't touch her or get too close.
tired, tired little girl
getting lost within a big world.

*******, auburn hair, scarlet lips, soft sighs
brushing her hair over 100 times
little girl, little girl, where are you going?
painted red lips and your pale limbs showing
hair up in braids and your legs lovely but barley clothed yet
tired, tired little girl
return to sleep
don't get lost within this big world.

-the middle

conceptcollection

In the still of the night
I am drawn to her side
like a moth to flame

As my hand slowly
moves over the silken
contours of her body
she turns to me
lips searching for
mine in the dark

she pushes urgently
up into my hand
with her body as if
begging for more

Lips and fingers
feed her desires
until waves of
pleasure course
through her and
set ablaze her
want and need
for more.

mkt

I’m Charlie. Aren’t you?

You draw and I write,

Sometimes we are wrong,

Sometimes we are right,

Sometimes it’s too much,

And sometimes not enough,

Sometimes someone’s angry

Or calls our bluff,

Or threatens to **** us,

Or kills us indeed,

But we don’t surrender,

Although we may bleed.

Our ****** just strengthens

Our courage to fight,

Our passion to laugh,

Our desire to write,

Our deep love for sharing

All things that are true.

Today and forever

I’m Charlie. Aren’t you?

AM

A pair of lungs walked into a bar
and inhaled the tobacco smoke.
Moments ago the smoke had risen drunk
before stumbling into the pair.
The bartender snickered, chortled
Which infuriated the lungs.
The lungs coughed up some tar.
They spat on her face then walked out.

"I'll make a picture of you" I told her
"Are you a painter?" she asked.
"No, but I can paint you in words" I answered