Going to meet with Gemma!
Did you pack my special pants?
We can pack when I get back!
Don't touch that bag!
See ya later!
Maybe not!
College tomorrow.
I'm so gone.

Now I take thee
As my bride, by my side,
As my family;
Now I take thee
for my own;
For me to cherish;
For me to have;
Now I take thee
this autumn day,
my beautiful bride;
full of pride,
full of hope.
My Mary, my wife.
Now I take thee
as my own.
Love me,
As I love you.

Running down the edge;
Toward the bottom;
The last bit of the storm.
No more thunder.
No more lightning.
Just the reminder.
The last drip.
Glistening in the sun.
Power surrendered;
Glistening in the heat of day.

The desk sat on the edge of the woods;
The pretty wood on top was weathered;
The shine had left the wood;
The wood wanted to splinter under my hand.
The drawers were shut and locked
At the back of the desk,
The burnt  orange color browning with time.
The corners pushed out as once it had
In the office with drawers.
The piece that rolled out for signatures
Hung loosely at the front.
Mourning all undone
On the heavy top of the old desk.
Perhaps to repair and start again.
Led to the edge of the forest by ghosts;
The spirits pulling at me to this old spot.
To let me see what lay waste.
Pained by the failure.
The missed opportunity of what could have been.
The work undone.
The skill let gone.
The thought set free to rain and sun.

If only I knew,
What to stew.
I'd fill my ***
With a lot.
And let you sip
Until you slip
And let me be
Your only she.
I am no such witch,
I am just a itch.
A chore,
Never one to adore.
No such brew,
Nothing new.
Just  me.
Never we.

Lingering summer.
Moon resting on the trees
Big, round, orange.
Summer's burn on my cheeks.
Laying on the brown
Woolen Army blanket
Prickly to my bare shoulders.
My suit still wet from the swim.
Coolness chilling the summer night.
Contemplating things to come.
Stroking aimlessly the moist
Green grass beside the blanket.
Moaning music drifting from the house
On the hill above.
Lazy summer coming to end.
Smokey fall and sad goodbyes-
Omens yet to come.

Wrapped in a small package;
Sitting on the table.
The light streaming from the huge window
Above the door landing on the table
Where the package sat.
Dust dancing about the golden rays
Reaching the tiny package.
Inside the secret held.
Awaiting the chance to be known.
Should it be seized before shared?
Or opened for all to see?
She ran her fingers along the edge
of the table.
Bit her lip and raised the package.
Folded so carefully.
So plainly in brown paper.
No bow, no card.
She placed it back.
Grabbed her coat.
Glanced once more about the hall.
Pushed the door and called her fate.
The brown package was past.