Sun-dried it was, with freckles and pimples each individual size and cause
Mixed with strange colors from the blue UV
A canvas for sweat, where I’d sleep, drink and eat
The surface I treat like a marble dream I walked upon without slipping
Like those shoulders I gripped when you made me feel little
And I begged you for more

Was I cinnamon to you, not perfect all the time like her
The vanilla that she is, pure and classic
She is the real porcelain inside and out while I am ceramic
My cracks don’t show at all, then all at once
But the scariest part is that I haven’t fallen yet, I live on
And you’re on the other ******* side

When real love kicks in..
And I mean the R E A L deal,
not the one that
TV shows present to you as being "part of life" in 23 minutes episodes!

The ****** up, messy entanglement that takes your heart,
blindfolds it and then starts kicking it from the side,
the parks, theaters and picnic one,
the “please make me a sandwich while I take out the trash” one,
the big-spoon-little-spoon-during-the-night one,
the “we just visited your parents last month and I don’t feel like doing it again very soon” one,
the fuzzy wazzy baby voicey one,
the planes, trains and automobiles one,
the “you snore so bad that I wanna **** you sometimes” one,
the bad morning breath after a hard day’s drinking night one,
the cinnamon flavoured one,
the “not 8 years and a half, but 8 years and 7 months” one
the one for which you cannot find words to describe it right.

When THAT kicks in..
you better be ready to sleep on the couch!

Snapchat me at 11 pm
Are you drunk for courage or for remission?

"I like you"
"You're beautiful"
"I want to *******"
You say, "call me" and we talk until 3am because I think I like you too and mostly because I know, we know, we're both so lonely.

It seems like you only talk to me when you're drunk but my mind tells me it's better than being ignored, like after Halloween when you couldn’t look me in the eyes. I thought it was the kiss and I still don't know if you remember or if you just pretended to forget. I remember, because you don't forget cinnamon liquor - like your skin, warm and bright.

I left town last week and you snapchatted me saying you missed me, at 3am again, in my new bed. You're leaving in August and I'm scared. Because I'll miss you too.

Somewhere, in the sleeping corners of the Universe
You eat my heart, raw
Removing the sticky traces from the lips
With your teeth
And catching stray drops of juice with your tongue.
With red fingers you touch my eyes
You crush them
Like blackberries and absorb them inside of you.
You bite my thighs,
Sprinkling them with cinnamon and melt in your throat.
You swallow me
Gradually, with seeds
Wiping your fingers on my cheeks.
Do you know that?

You have no ******* idea.

Like a cotton candy you're sticking on my lips,
I'm ripping you off with my teeth and melting you in my throat.
Soft, in the echoes of breaths
You are kissing my heart,
Sprinkling it  with cinnamon
And wrapping it in orange peel,
You're wearing my taste on your fingertips.
I'm finding you in every blink
When I forget what you look like in the fall
Standing under the thousands of paper cranes,
Hugging my loneliness
And forgetting yours.
Sometimes, you're gliding down my back
And dropping through the skin,
Burning, soft
In echoes of breaths,
In the salt void
Of a blink .

I cannot say I miss you. Because I never do.
From time to time,
you show up in the back of my mind.
I love poems
As I love you.
I know what I wrote are not poems at all.
But who to say that you are real?
I love you but I hate you
In a sense that you are
Untouchable.
As I like cinnamon.
How many times I've dreamed about you
In my dreams, there is only one permanent scene
Your holographic voice penetrating my fragile mind
Your wisdom dissolves into this dull water of my psyche
Like glitters fluttering,falling in a Christmas crystal ball.

My regulars

..

A cup of hotly brewed tea
with a menthol roll
sitting on an ash tray
beside my widely opened book
of a guilty pleasure promise

Day dreaming of a cold weather
with pine trees covered in white softness
and a
waft of cinnamon
mixed with baked floured ginger

Sara L Russell, 23rd October 2014, 01:01*

She was sunlight and cinnamon;
all wide eyes,
auburn hair, fair complexion
freckles and fleeting laughter.
She was an enigma to her friends,
a golden girl to her parents…

Dappled sunlight turned her into
fragments of an autumn impressionist panting;
all her reds, golds and peach tones
wildly blazing,
vividly flaming in a sunset's haze.

She could make people laugh
with a dry turn of phrase.
She could silence a room just by walking in
through the door.
She could silence cruel words
with a withering look.

She was going to be somebody;
the world was going to know her name,
the future was forever -
until
he caught her, used her,
left her under autumn leaves
in a ditch by the roadside;

and he became somebody
and she became the face
of the girl killed by him.
Hollywood made a thriller about him
and his crime;
and her mother made an album of photos of her;
and the local paper published
her brief obituary.