You are a spectrum of danger,
thrown out on the battle field,
a molecular dark riding ranger,
and it's not like a fire,
or a sword that you weild,

A molecular biology occurring in dark,
I,
I can't think in this way,
a bonding of agents-
to fuse from a spark,
creating raw chemistry,
it's why I want you to stay,

Microelectronicmechanical bits spawn,
under such dangerous conditions,
I eagerly anticipate the coming of dawn,
my knees fall weak again,
as you break down more inhibitions,

Sweetly I just can't resist,
despite all the effort I give,
I tip my neck back - as I enlist,
and relish the moment occurring,
an still I hope that I'll live,

No way to fight in this passion,
no one else to come rescue me,
been too long with a ration,
a twinge of unhinged desire,
I close my eyes,
adjusting to see,

It's a magnetism in chemical vibration,
from lack of sweet frequency to come,
an even from deep satiation,
I inhale a last - b r e a t h,
as all my defenses- undone,

I open my eyes an you're gone again,
along with the shining of sun,

As I lay covered - head to toe
in your weaponized Smartdust.

Ma Cherie © 2017

He called me a chameleon once.
The words fell like sweet thick honey that matched his sandy blonde hair.
It fell just over his eyes. I had to duck and search to meet his gaze.
He told me that I acted like a mother to one, and a daughter to another.
He told me that he had yet to figure out my true colours.

I only smiled.

He studied me carefully everyday afterwards.
Peering, leering, examining every last breath that left my lips.
I chuckled, and allowed it, knowing he could spend his life dedicated to studying me yet never find the answer he was looking for.
A chameleon can only blend in with what surrounds them,
fire, blue skies, dark blizzards, animated companions.

A chameleon can never see the colour of its own skin, because it's too busy trying to match everyone else.

I am melting into a dream of tangerines;
Falling, passing the branches of citrus blossoms that once were.

I land on a rigid peel,
the brightest orange in the colored pencil set.
There are indents in the skin,
depressions, each belonging to a different story,
this tangerine has been through a lot.
From a young bud,
to a ripe fruit,
it has grown.

Do not make the mistake of calling it an orange, or a clementine,
it is not.
It is a tangerine.
Peeling it almost sounds like a symphony.
Inch by inch, the orchestral rhythm plays off,
until you are slicing it, accidentally rupturing its walls,
in that moment, it sounds like a little boy, who doesn’t quite understand why it’s encouraged to chew with your mouth closed.

A tangerine,
each segment of it looks like half a pair of healthy lungs,
pure, and fresh.
It is a surprise when you bite into it.
Realize, the prettiest things are not always the sweetest,
they can be a little tangy, a little sour.
The taste bouncing off the inside of your mouth like it is a trampoline.
Realize, it is a tangerine;
**from a young bud,
to a ripe fruit,
it has grown.

I can not handle shallow souls

I need someone who is deep enough where I am afraid I will drown
if I decide to test out their waters

I need someone brave enough to throw me their life raft
when I am in over my head and can't make it back to shore
on my own