Her exotic gaze caught my jet lagged eyes.
The bar was filled with drunken banter
But I heard her loud and clear.
She approached me like a lion approaches its prey,
And the trap was set.

We didn’t speak each other’s language
But our bodies did the talking.
“Come hither” it said as I followed.
Her hips led the way as my hands followed.
She smelled of Juniper and lust.

She can’t take her hands off me,
And I can’t take my lips off her neck.
Her body says “Let’s get out of here”
So I obliged.
She’s taking off my tie in the taxi,
And my hand heads further up her dress.
We left a trail of clothes from the taxi
To her condo.

Ecstacy and cigarette smoke filled the room
As we caught our breaths.
The midnight moon crept in through the curtains.
“Come back to bed” her eyes said.
Her dreamlike state quickly faded
As her eyes locked onto the barrell
Of my gun.
Her eyes said “Have mercy.”
My lips said “You’re just an assignment.”
We couldn’t understand each other,
But a bullet sounds the same in any language.

A single shot echoed into the night
And gently disappeared into the wind.
Her once vivrant body was now
Lifeless and cold.

I’ll collect my check in the morning.

"You're wasting your time."
Familiar line, I'm sure;
Leisure, time you take pleasure
In wasting, fighting off chores

With scores of swords forged in
Words, nouns and verbs, you argue
"I've nought to do, work's been,
I've earned it!" The frayed border between

Toil and sleep, 'spare time',
Your crime is laziness, sloth;
The clock – time's warden – watching
As your lies thicken like simmering broth;

The monitor melts your eyes into half-smiles,
"Wasted time, your pastime,"
A degree in procrastination, hesitation
To face – "the clock, the time!"

The moon hides behind the horizon,
Your fingers flurry, too late to hurry
Out the piece you left so late.
"Wasted time" stinks like left-over curry,

Let it permeate your nostrils; exhale blame
As you **** in the shame that you've failed.
Cradle the melted clock, warm butter,
Spread it onto toast, yellow trails

Crying "why?" Place it between guilty lips
And chew; the taste's bitter.
"It's raining today."
Pitter patter, patter pitter.

A stationary set for my 21st birthday
going the right way since I turned wrong
one other lover than the one I've got
my head and my heart have fought
like this before

a mistake to hit the gas off the cliff with a
soul made of glass
I fell out of my mind and right back in
no way to stop from going your direction
fly butterfly on a railroad cloud
through a one way sky
my train is on to your station
in just a moments time

you, a western film
with the lights down low
beautiful to look at
while moving slow

come listen in,
and lean back
a pillow for the soul
in a campfire story

it was all I could do but to ride to town with no place to be
hoping this street would lead
through a long winter night

seasons changed,
but love remained long within
to tell a story
time and again
of an eternal flame

so hold me close,
and your skin won't feel the snow
no matter how much skin might show
that's how the best
campfire stories go