i.

A king and queen
Of faraway;
Tis ourn story
Ourn unique Creme Brulee.

ii.

We shalt not repose
Inside ourn grave's;
We'll be exposed
In united sage.

iii.

No sadness here
Or fist's of rage;
Man shalt not enter
Past ourn lover's gate.

iv.

This is ourn stay
A manner estate;
With her tawny skin
Upon mine body's plate.

v.

We shalt be early
As there's no time;
No time for late
This is ourn party, life and love, everlasting place.



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry ( Hari-reyna incorporated)
©Earl Jane nagley ( Filipino rose) dedication

We had a sweetened creme brulee
but carrots got tossed in
and carrots don't rhyme with anything
It was good for a while
interesting and intriguing
But I can't finish this cup
of weird creme brulee
but the taste was worth
the seven bucks I paid

1- MOUTH*ME Ordering
Impress-me_Orange only
Surprise me_Lounge-Pop-solo
to believe in me orange wings halo
He's the Popsicle Text$$$He

She is acting like the
baby grand piano
Plays the "Clockwork Orange"
spoiled her
orange cycle pours
out liqueur
Top hat seating he better do quicker
who will be doing the ordering?

The orange smiling the whole world
Is hanging up their coats in the
Rainbow room honey orange glaze
She got her scholarship
drinks just float

Somewhere being checked off
Like an orange popsicle licked off
All fragments "Creme Brulee'
in orange segments
Look at him with the
big portion
 
The check your paying now
you can leave my dream
Titanic ship or the internship

Orange plaid vibrant tablecloths
Lips so tangy nothing
fancy love and honor
Her pooch too smoochy 
Orangey oceans drizzle me touchy
Touch her vibrant lips
she screams
More orange with
good principle
So delectable how his mouth
On the radio air
She lets out to
much air
Her orange peel wedge
Bits and pieces profitable pledge
Orange-grapefruit perfumes
with vanilla cream
She Pops in and he bursts out
To trust her dream you better react
To see her colors
The Ambrosial Business
lady proposal good
American dollar

Pick me I am pungent her gloss
is a big plus
She’s all business cool
vibrant boss

Orange Julius Caesar shower
Exotic oils of orange petal me
What delicacy for the
Gods orange lounge
piece de resistance the
New Orange with persistence.
spiritual love romance
her wicked stance

2. Her Face ASTRINGENT
SOoothing Vibrant

Her lips juicy gossip
Her juicy lips to burst for
He’s the “Orange Julius Sunshine”

3. Delectable--__ Save me Savory
Finger lakes he gives me
the finger foods

Creamy outnumbered orange
fudge you be
My Popsicle Judge


Oranges segments pancakes to
boost your energy
Underestimate her she will orange
  test your fate don't be late
That well suited Italian Gelato
His eyes like popsicle love
signs her lips orange designed
So well to deliver
Dances of touches pulp fiction river
a burst of Godly Orange sunsets
We all love the change
like an experiment

(No Nuns) wearing orange ruler sticks
Let's flag them down in my convent

The men of Citrus Avanti umm
Refreshing popsicle his dimples
the Ground of Sculptures
The melted like milkshakes
Don't use the John
pulp fiction.

4. SPECTRUM OF COLORS ORANGE

Orange vibrant she screams she could
knock anyone out of her burst dream
The orange starter hard pulp
orange lip gloss what delicacy
piece de resistance the
New Orange with persistence.
Her nails in polka dots
Orange

Firey Islander Exotic hottie
orange lip gloss she looks good
over him
Orange slices love triangles
How the women start to mingle they
love being single their orange
fashionable 27-anniversary good luck
orange you glad I got them
dresses he could eat her up
like a 69 flavor sherbet
how she melts
Orange juice me anytime
how does it pour?
Going on an exotic taste tour
Orange Emerald City

Vivacious so vibrant she
stands out her
smells intoxicating again
Orange mating Vitamin C
The sun craving
Like clockwork her masterpiece
of fragrance a burst of her heart
orange smoothie
wildly orange scent how he
was summoned
onto her with vibrant
words of comments
A burst of the eclipse will be coming
Longevity how he lifts her gravity.

More Vitamin C Orange is all me.
How you can use your intuition
to create miracles in life
☯

Holden Caulfield
2. That movie that I saw last weekend that I thought you would like
3. The mix tapes you made me. I still listen to them in my car
4. The way I dance and wondering if you would like it if you saw me.
5. The Kooks and how you hate them.
6. Hospice
7. Late nights sleeping alone and knowing you're awake, but oh so silent.
8. Wondering if you're thinking about me too
9. The poems you wrote me. Your handwriting is classy.
10. The picture of Hilary Duff on my desk reminding me to be good
11. My bed and how you used to be there.
12. My friends and how you used to be one of them
13. Uptown
14. My ticklish spots that no longer get touched
15. My cat... he misses you.
16. Speaking Spanish and how you used to correct it, and sometimes be impressed
17. Wearing bows in my hair. How you used to love them.
18. The clothes I bought at that thrift store yesterday. I wonder if you'd like them.
19. Mehermahermahermaherm
20. Listening to Bright Eyes.
21. Listening to the sound of loneliness.
22. Coffee and how you say "Americano" with a roll of the tongue.
23. The last bit in my tea and how it's "too sweet to swallow."
24. Sitting close on the couch. Your hand stroking mine. Sneaking a kiss on the cheek.
25. Missing busses and missing you.
26. How I used to cheer you up.
27. The stars and sheep and roses.
28. Seth Rogan
29. Meditating and how I can't do it with you constantly clogging up my brain.
30. Laughing
31. I never learned to salsa dance with you and your brutally honest hips.
32. Carrot Creme Brulee
33. Hand dance duets
34. The empty spaces between my fingers
35. Your grey corduroy pants are my favorite.
36. When you called me your coriño.
37. How you would have scoffed at me copying and pasting an "ñ".
38. Attempting to show you music you would like.
39. Failing at showing you music you like.
40. Sending you hearts.
41. Arching my back.
42. Eating ice cream and how I'm better when it's here.
43. How I'm better when you're here.
44. How Cory is better when Topanga is there.
45. Italian Night Clubs
46. You and Me and Everyone We Know
47. Tyronne Street
48. Ice Land
49. Getting lost.
50. Drunken parties and thrashing fists.
51. Second chances
52. Being half of something.
53. Wearing your cardigan
54. Long embraces and never wanting to move.
55. Doing my homework with you sitting next to me. Not letting you read over my shoulder
56. Teaching you about the body.
57. Your smile, and how you give a little chuckle every time I see it.
58. How we used to laugh about nothing.
59. Really bad cookies.
60. Butter face.
61. Jealousy
62. Hating modernized Shakespeare
63. Confessions
64. Embarrassed faces buried in pillows
65. Incredulous about me hating Elvis
66. Miles ******* Davis
67. Singing softly to the radio
68. Playing the piano. Singing for you when you're not around.
69. Wondering if you're reading this right now.
70. Hoping that you've gotten this far down the list.
71. Be the Pitta to my Vata
72. Kate Upton has saggy *****.
73. I just want to make spaghetti with you.
74. How you hate ellipsis
75. Wondering whether or not I spelled that correctly because I know you would judge.
77. Leaving tearful voice-mails
78. John Lennon and Yoko Ono's Rolling Stone cover
79. Looking at art, wishing I was Monet.
80. My sundress on the floor.
81. Not seeing that new movie in theaters (the one that won all those Oscars) because I only want to see it with you.
82. Getting angry when Kacie B. didn't get the rose on the Bachelor and knowing you're angry too because Courtney ***** as a person.
83. I'm an ugly crier.
84. Hitting bread pans
85. Your green plaid jacket
86. Vulgarity
87. Insecurity
88. "Back and forth. Forever."
89. How that one song reminds you of me and I still don't know why.
90. How you deserve the best
91. It makes me sad that I'm at number 91 and you're still nowhere to be found.
92. Going to ballet class with the anticipation of seeing you afterward.
93. You asking me how ballet was, whether you were interested or not.
94. whispers "Let me be your hero."
95. Never seeing your fur vest.
96. Holding hands when we shouldn't have.
97. Velvet leggings
98. The last wonder of the world.
99. I fear that I will forget what your face looks like.
100. Reaching one-hundred with so much more to say.

Coffee
    Heath
        Bar
            Crunch
Will sabotage those taste buds,
Like Dublin and its Mudslides.
So blast off with that,
Fossil Fuel,
And don’t let me
Catch you.
‘Cause I’ll keep you,
My Maple Blondie.
I’ll capture you,
And hold onto,
Those Cinnamon Buns.
You’re the Crème Brulee,
Of Chocolate Macadamia,
And the Cherry Garcia,
In my every breath.
You’re the Chunky Monkey,
To this Chubby Hubby;
The Dulce Delish,
for this Americone Dream.

Can’t you see I’ve just got,
A sweet tooth for you,
And your Phish Food?
Your Chocolate hair,
Key Lime Pie eyes,
Strawberry Cheesecake lips,
And your skin is a delight,
Much like Vanilla Caramel Fudge.
Did Ben and Jerry create you?
Please tell me they did!
So I can eat you,
With my cup of Boston Cream Pie,
And I’d eat you all up, Well,
Everything but the…
Half Baked,     Karmel Sutra,
Which I’d lick,
Like a cone of Cake Batter,
And then dip into,
Like Cookies and Milk.

Imagine Whirled Peace,
On top of this Mudpie,
And then Split,
Like a Banana.
That’s the kind of Brownie Batter,
I’d stir with you,
And then add a scoop,
    Or two,
Of Turtle Soup.
And you would yell,
PISTACHIO PISTACHIO!
    Where for art thou pistachio?
And with a bowl of Peach Cobbler,
And a spoon of Vanilla,
I’d look at you,
    wink,
and offer you a pint,
of my Mint Chocolate Chunk.

There are two types of secrets
the ones sworn under oath never to tell anyone
whispered in crowded hallways
and while getting cold water from the corner store
and the ones you weren’t supposed to hear
the ones tossed in the dark, the ones forbidden
under the fingernail sensitive
top of the tongue scalding, threatening to
taser your skin with the weight, the electricity
that these words hold suspended in thick air
every Sunday evening I would listen to the
perfect consonants through the wall
the sacred sermon my mother and father would ritualize
the stories from before child, B.C
it would start with a question, so daintily pressed through
gleaming teeth
and he would bellow triumphantly about the hero within him
the time he intervened between two bloodied men with
pulpy faces touching with the grace of dancing gods  
his fists gracefully gliding between a pool of face
and can’t we calm down, and can’t we breathe the hot asphalt
of the day, the gravel of car exhaust ******* out
our sweat, I think you can
and these men with missing teeth and missing souls
would spit but their heads would level and my
heart would soar up through the ceiling, flutter right out
through
but these fairy tales were also horror stories
about the time the man was a boy and his father would
chase after him with a crowbar never to return home,
running barefoot through the hot concrete of the streets
causing blisters to appear like water balloons
popping them like the lungs that burst that day
but nothing but tears exploded out of them
and I thought I understood
the legend of the damsel in distress
my mother waiting by the door, waiting for the burns to fade from
her skin, waiting for the roof to cave in like the feelings
she promised she would swallow with cough medicine
and funerals are only birthday parties when you’re surrounded
by death, oh to be young
but then the secrets started to venture out of the confines of
my home, spilling out of my bed to become
real stories I told myself at school when I didn’t have
a Band-Aid for the scorching burn of sitting all alone
so I started living them, as I sat huddled in the bathroom
envisioning a toy cowboy stranded in the middle of the
bathtub, repeatedly soaked to make his clothes almost sun
bleached and his smile submerged, blotting, erasing
teaching myself that there’s no such thing as free will
when decisions are made for you
and this toy cowboy with his gun perched politely on his hand
Ready to deal some bullets or a handshake,
I never knew which but it didn’t matter
when there wasn’t conversation exchanged and
I wondered if he tried to escape when I wasn’t looking
did he feel like a goldfish in a bowl
his reality distorted, the glass too thick to realize
there was more than loneliness, more than
constant drowning, that being cold wasn’t a
state of being
no I don’t think so
that was the big secret you see
listening when one has nothing to say
you pick things up like lost puppies
or thumb tacks left on the floor
or you lose them like bobby pins and self-made money
my memories, my worst enemy
coming to an empty house at age 13
no home-made meal like pressing my face against
the carpet, being stealthy quiet
until I heard sound downstairs
the neighbors, the clatter of dishes being distributed
around the dining room table
laughter and television news about the ****** of a
teenager being shot outside his front yard
and this was my bread and butter
screaming of kids wrestling about who gets the
bigger piece of cake
the movement of chairs, the kissing of feet
walking from one room to the other
and although these mumbles didn’t tell their story
it told mine
the living room turning from bruised peach
to melancholy blue, solitude buzzing
through the creme brulee walls of my parents
studio apartment,
the tapping of a faucet, the slight erratic breathing
of a pipe leaking gas nearby but I survived
there are two types of secrets told
the ones you’re supposed to listen to
and the ones you forgot you knew

Crème brulee, a careless mind,
singeing, burning albeit caramelized
like a politician never normalized,
crawfish should never be apologetic
there's an avaricious  food chain
in there somewhere,
gun shot without hardly knowing
right from wrong
conceal that  powder trail
dig down to Bayou.

At the East End Cafe
a Canadian folksinger
strums up a storm
on a guitar-
a bargain guitar-
he got $1000 off the price of it
We don’t know any of his songs

Locals tap their feet
to his rhythms
talk to people
they talk to every day
but louder tonight
fuelled by beer and wine
and a determined bonhomie

Ange and her girls
cook up a storm
behind the counter
serve us steaks
and real pizzas
and creme brulee

Late night kids
stroll outside
peer in - curious-
at the unaccustomed goings on

Beyond the plateglass windows
the inside lights
orange globes
reflect in the darkness
like floating pumpkins

I know the river lies out there
just moving on down to the sea

I want to take you to the city
and put your name in lights
after spending the day seeing
all the touristy sights
I'll take you to a restaurant
We'll have the finest meal
music will be playing
you'd pick lobster over veal
I'd smile across the table
watching you decide
on cake instead of creme brulee
and of course instead of pie
there'd be women all around us
beauty of all sorts
and still my eyes stay on you
for no other can compare
none has your intense gaze
your lovely sea blue eyes
no lips can match your lusciousness
to me you rise above
We'd leave the restaurant
I'd see it in your eyes
disappointment for you thought it then
I'd saved the real surprise
We'd travel to a busy street
and walking hand in hand
I'd stop and kneel before you
look into your eyes
the lights would flash on behind me
The message beaming bright
I'd read to you a poem
trying to sum up in mere words
the reasons why I love you
and want you in my life
I'd ask you the question
If you would be my wife


I'd take you to the city
together we'd see the sights
we'd have a picnic in a park
we'd find a tree casting shade
and stare into the sky gazing at the clouds
and watch families stroll by
our hands clasped tight together
we'd speak our dreams aloud
the family that'd be ours someday
of a life well lived, the love we'd give
as night fell on the city, day fades away
we'd find a restaurant to eat a meal
and talk about our day
I'd feel the box in my pocket and wait
the moment would be right
I'd thought and planned and knew
tonight would be our night
you ate the cake, instead of pie
I watched you with a smile
the world around us faded out
reaching out to caress your face
to feel your so soft skin
the words I had prepared
seemed so very thin
we paid and leave into the night
the stars shining high above
I take your hand in mine
and we slowly walk
returning to where our day had begun
the lights are out, the park is dark
and then we see the glow, an island of light
we reach the center, there's a fountain
surrounded by a sea of candles
the water burbles happily
I kneel before you in this man made sea
the light it dances on your skin and I know
where to begin, with the love that I feel
and how your love has helped me heal
how I know my life is with you
and with a question I stake it all
be my love, my wife, my all

The day I turned thirteen was the day all innocence in me was lost.
The day I turned thirteen was the day something in me changed;
The day I turned thirteen was the day I became "deranged"...

They point their fingers and look at us with:
Hatred and Malice in their eyes,
Upon us all they suspect foul play-
But what they don't realise is if they mess with one they get the full creme brulee.

We're different, we're aliens on this strange planet Earth.
But that's no justification for:
Neglection, Cruelty and Abuse;
It's no wonder some of us start tying our own noose...

You think that you know us, but you haven't seen it all,
Not the good times, the bad times, the party - or the brawl.

It's a tragedy to think that on the 13th birthday of any young teens life,
He 's marked forever with the
Badge of Shame;
And is then until death the subject of blame.

Rainy days n broken sighs
Sweet deceit
Lace my dreams
Bird of prey
State of rare
Anticipation
Fills my day
Creme brulee
My Barrett
You stole
Black n blue
In a loom
Spiral wave
On a rage
You swore
Your embrace
My solace
Tight assuage
We move

he’s resting his head on my shoulder and I don’t know how to ******* breathe. this motion said so much, I think. cause yeah, I had rested my head on his shoulder hundreds of times and I had burrowed my head into his neck and sat on his lap and slept on his chest. but in this taxi, going down and down 43rd, 42nd, 41st it was different. his eyes were tired. the lights outside illuminated the right side of his face and reminded me that there was a world that existed outside of the backseat of this taxi cab. it felt like time had froze just for the two of us, like no human interaction had ever been as significant as this and the taxi driver, the people on the sidewalks outside, the city of new york, the entire universe had to stop to see this. he was fading in and out of a minute sleep and we equally reeked of the 6 train and pistachio brulee and I was so tired and so dazed that in that moment I told myself that I loved him. no doubt. I didn’t even have to think about it. the love was this low hum that always followed you everywhere. it was the kind that sometimes got annoying and left you wondering where the hell it even came from. but it was also the kind that lulled you to sleep at night and when it needed to, it picked and prodded at you to remind you it was still there. -sk

It's not the same

Your dress looks beautiful
the weather is fantastic
this restaurant you picked
amazing
the waiter
delightful

It's not the same

What did Gina tell you?
That her bladder is so small that she has to ***
every time she washes her hands?
that's hilarious
how inconvenient

It's not the same

Pass the salt
no the other salt
haha
I know that's pepper
what a cute smile you have when you're playing a joke

It's not the same

Always the jokester
never serious

It's not the same

Did you smile like that when you let him touch you it's not the same

What a beautiful dress you have
can I try some of your pasta
wow
delicious
you know I heard it was supposed to storm out in--

It's not the same

I think I'm going to use the restroom
*** even though you don't even have to
Now that I am washing my hands I do
I'm no better than ******* Gina
Don't punch the wall

It's not the same

You forgave her
she apologized
she had to apologize
punch the wall

It's not the same

Finish washing your hands
Compose yourself
You love her
and she loves you
she always did
she made a mistake
we all make mistakes

It's not the same

not like that
we don't all do that
THAT
is not normal
Hi
Honey yes, they do have towels in the bathroom
no I didn't know they used to make creme brulee here
why did they stop?
wow amazing
why did you stop?

It's not the same

I look tired?
Works been crazy
good lie
you're worrying
she doesn't know
or care

It's not the same

You forgave her
That doesn't mean I have to
because I know
as well as you do
as much as you try to fight it




It's not the same

Skimming the surface of your sweetness
Creamy rich creme brulee
with a je ne said quois kick
Skin of sprinkled seasonings
Looks like art
In all sensory scintillation
Delicate dashes
Deliberate divinity finds
A splash of savior savory
Boil up smiles
Bubble over in rounds
Popping sizzle
Of a new recipe spark
Invite chance to the table
And me without manners
Fumbled elbows atop a table
Unrefined as an innocent palette
Fear finds fruitful fools as I
Always want another taste
Insatiable sensations
Shake me
Never the same
A want to swish you in my mouth
So you know my words stir smoother sound space
Than my mind lets on
Imagine a ticking timer
For me or you
Cant just swelter in the smell
Saliva sweat on hot stovetop
Tease your texture between teeth
I find gritted in a past
Of al dente pasta
Not quite my liking
But always filling
How hard to be full
Of a hearth of health
When i've been so long
Waited on by baited service
Couldn't help but take a bite
I got hooked
Reeled in line to choke on breathing
Luck lifeline
To see release
Catch a nibble
Insist I taste
Your full flavor
Ever evolving buds
Dissolve new resolve
From tongue
Of trepidation
Swirled in soufflee one day
Tiramisu on through
To courses I never knew
In glistening garnishes
Playful plating
Dining halls of hope
Glazed eyes
Fancy this feast
Mixed anew
Set you a place
Its fit for two

Your rickshaw riptide truths felt real and dangerous. Cracked my fragile creme brulee mind.
And oh how you enjoyed your sweets.

you **** it up again.

caller id before she can hide from you
mother’s not done fighting but you don’t know that
she asks about your day and the weather and how is the brulee because she might get that next time
you think there are better things to talk about than overcooked pudding

you’re too much, too mean, chafing around the edges
sharp eyes and sharp tongue, a bed of knives inside
cutting out old scars
******* in the wounds
the words fall out of you, acid reflux slick and sweet in your mouth but you can’t stop-

she packs up her things six minutes later and it hurts more than a slap to the face might have if she were so inclined
and you wonder why you can’t love someone the way you were made to

Its Friday night
No date
But I was really hoping he would call to say hello
Guess he forgot
His loss
I was really in the mood for lobster tails and crème Brulee
Good thing dads a chef

My amaranth heart cracked and crumbled.

A creme brulee between your sheets.

And in the morning, laying in the after math,
The damage well and done...

*Id never feel that weightless again.

The poems that are nonsense
Some work like limericks, and eddy
Like jokes on a drink of scotch, and a talk on Neal Cassady
The luncheon, and criminal affairs, the belted ladies with their cummerbunds and burgeoning wishes
The moist coffee, that touches you cupcake lips and kisses the dessert foam
The creme brulee, cider, and apples, you take bites and Bill Evans that plays the ebony and ivory
Stones that rock organs, keyboards, and rock changing streets
The streets that billow of cigarette meditation and ****** addiction spread like rated multiplexes meant for adults
Taxi cabs looking for some darkness in a handful of destiny

Often unwell, she wrote
Often unwell is true
Endurance please and movies
Rest my point of view

Wait for it to come to me
Help my second son
Libraries in the New Year
Little way French nun

Q can cook creme brulee
Now almost as tall as me
Get Cam into sports
Watch him run break free

Plato wrote in dialogue
I can write it too
Shema Israel
Marc Cohn taxi Lu

    The best for last for you

Ask a lab mouse.
If he could talk he'd tell you,
"better than *******."

Use a credit card,
cut it into lines.
Snort it, chew it. Or spike
it directly into a vein.

Check out the slip of a woman
seated at the corner table.
She's smoking a cigarette
and shoveling spoonful
after spoonful of the stuff
into her coffee cup.

It's ubiquitous,
in soda, in lemonade,
sprinkled onto donuts,
baked into cookies.

Fudge, cotton candy,
creme brulee.

"One lump or two?"
asks the hostess.
The reply: "Just keep 'em coming."

The PSA: "This is your brain,
these are you're eyes widening."

Better than ***?
Ask the man
in the leisure suit talking
to the pretty woman at the bar.

"Give me some sugar,"
he says playfully.

She grabs a handful of packets,
drops them in his lap.

He grins. "Thanks doll,
you're a lifesaver."

Often unwell, she wrote
Often unwell is true
Endurance please and movies
Rest my point of view

Wait for it to come to me
Help my second son
Libraries in the New Year
Little way French nun

Q can cook creme brulee
Now almost as tall as me
Get Cam into sports
Watch him run break free

Plato wrote in dialogue
I can write it too
Shema Israel
Marc Cohn taxi Lu

    The best for last for you

God is not real
But She is the Better Story
Stephen King in Maine
Me in Baltimore

Grey day blues
Hard to concentrate
Star Trek tonight
Enterprise does soar

My son makes creme brulee
I like French cathedrals
No parlez vous Francaise
2024

          Ocean's pounding roar

                         Nice!