Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children.
Cold as snow breath, it tamps the womb

Where the yew trees blow like hydras,
The tree of life and the tree of life

Unloosing their moons, month after month, to no purpose.
The blood flood is the flood of love,

The absolute sacrifice.
It means: no more idols but me,

Me and you.
So, in their sulfur loveliness, in their smiles

These mannequins lean tonight
In Munich, morgue between Paris and Rome,

Naked and bald in their furs,
Orange lollies on silver sticks,

Intolerable, without mind.
The snow drops its pieces of darkness,

Nobody's about. In the hotels
Hands will be opening doors and setting

Down shoes for a polish of carbon
Into which broad toes will go tomorrow.

O the domesticity of these windows,
The baby lace, the green-leaved confectionery,

The thick Germans slumbering in their bottomless Stolz.
And the black phones on hooks

Glittering
Glittering and digesting

Voicelessness. The snow has no voice.

28 January 1963

get angrier now, there's no sense denying it,

force fed lies to ostracize little girls from buying...

free candy ladies. look over here, James has a pink truck and i swear he's not queer. ha.

i got bubble gum, i know you want some, yummy yummy in the tummy, stop right there I'll force it down

choke. digest. you didn't chew, see how it gets when you don't listen,

Jamison is a confectionery in the kitchen.

i can bake you cookies, just get down on both knees...please.

see i already asked you nicely, .... you know you don't want me to start shoutin' and get violent....girl.

i thought you were my world, how loud do you want me to shout it..

now your lying somewhere where no one can hear you cry

i never thought I'd see the day the cake baker took a life...

and i tried...so hard, what could i do, everything in the world reminded me of you...eat some cookies.

they're a little ******, but they're not bad, maybe mix it in with the batter the next time I'm mad.

it didn't have to be this way. you forced me to do it,

i am a baker by trade and now I'm covered in your fluids....

god this is gross, ... how am I gonna get these stains outta these clothes

start to choke.

looking at your ****** body.

the... the... the... cadaver is just laying there looking back at me

smiling.

in my cookie shop I'm panicking...start to wonder how i got pushed this far

now all the cookies are burnt and crumbling.

gotta put those bodies in the oven.

recipes and sweets mean nothing when you don't have love

bake this cake at three hundred and fifty degrees...

just until the hearts inside get gooey and melt over me.

wow.

Bright vegetables of the sea,
disordered hair, thin arms.

Tubes protrude among vivid coral,
an array of shades against a sapphire canvas.

Wobbly vermilion wires poke out
from under rust-coloured rocks.

A clown swims quick through the middle,
orange in a forest of fingers.

Pink bonbons, candy canes,
an underwater confectionery store.

Some throb with electricity,
small pools of violet light near their homes.

Others ***** rainbows
from deep open mouths.

Waltzing in solitude
as tangerine horses gallop.

More creatures weave past,
realise they are in a multi-hued hug.

Hidden paint splatters,
are they aliens of the deep?

She came up to me one day in the office seeking help
She'd heard me talking about my nightmares
She was a lovely looking thing, she was big into dieting and health food and healthy eating
Some of the other girls used to consult her about such matters
Thinking her to be quite an authority on the subject
I think she might have had a sideline too selling some Health products
She was a...a gorgeous looking creature, she had lovely blonde hair which framed her beautiful oval face like a heavenly aura,
Maintaining always a resolutely bright and cheerful disposition
She radiated positivity and optimism wherever she went
(I suspected secretly that when she got home she probably kicked her cat around)
I'd be all agog just looking at her
I suppose yes! I probably had a little crush on her
Unfortunately I was a good deal older than she
So I could only see myself as a secret admirer, a dark lover from afar...

She'd been acting a little peculiarly of late since returning from her Easter holidays
I wasn't the only one to remark about it
Gone was her usual self assured poise and grace
Gone too her lovely bright positive glow
It was like some sudden terrible tragedy had befallen her
Like some big dark ominous cloud had suddenly appeared on her horizon
Now she seemed rushed and frazzled, strangely distracted, unsure of herself, hesitant
Clumsy, apologetic, not at all like her usual confident self.

So she came up to me when I was alone one day and asked "You know something about nightmares, don't you"
She proceeded to tell me this story
She used to drive to work but because of the unusually mild and clement sunny Spring weather coming up to Easter
She had decided to leave her car at home and walk to work
Probably thinking it to be healthier I suppose
The route she took meant she had to pass by a certain newsagents *** confectionery /sweet shop
Now coming up to Easter as it was
The owner of the shop had strategically placed in the front window of his shop a big Easter egg
Wrapped in pretty ribbons and bows and encased in a very colourful, most alluring box
Every day she had to pass this shop with its lovely chocolate egg prominently displayed
You probably know where this is going,
Yea! A secret longing began to grow in her
Passing that shop every day and seeing that big chocolate egg started to rekindle in her memories of the days when as a child she used visit her local Sweet shop
When the only ambition she had was to get enough money so she could buy the newest chocolate or sweet
She began to remember fondly thoughts of all the old chocolate bars and sweets she used to eat
Anyway this longing, this desire of hers... each day it grew stronger and stronger until finally, like a river bursting a dam
Yea, like a huge monster, it finally overwhelmed her
Yes! She... she SUCCUMBED!

One evening she drove her car to the shop and parked on the opposite side of the street
There she waited till the street was deserted, with no one around
When the coast was clear, she got out of the car carrying a big shopping bag
Wearing a big hat and dark sunglasses just like a movie star
She went into the shop and told the shop girl she wanted the big Easter egg in the front window
She lied telling her it was for her little nephew
She hastily paid for the Egg, then quickly bundled it into her shopping bag carefully covering it up with other items so no one would see
Then hurriedly she left the shop, crossed the street with her head bowed, got into her car and quickly sped off
Over the next two days, in an **** of orgiastic chocolate eating, she secretly gorged upon, devoured all by herself the entire Easter egg
When she had finished, she sat there, a sullen lump among the ruins of her feast
Bits of ribbons and bows and torn box strewn all around her
Almost immediately she began to suffer pangs of guilt, berating herself repeatedly and bitterly for her lack of will power and mental strength, for her perceived weakness of character
This went on for the next few days, she just couldn't bring herself to forgive her behaviour
And she couldn't fathom how she had let this desire overcome her
...Then curiously, she began to experience a strange recurring dream at night,
She'd dream that she went one evening to another part of town where she wasn't known again to buy her Easter egg
There was no one around at that hour
She'd buy her Easter egg, tell her little lie about her nephew, then bundle the Egg into her bag and cover it just like before,
Then she'd leave the shop and head down some backstreets not wanting to be seen by anyone she knew
At that time of evening the shadows had begun to lengthen, the backstreets were very quiet and deserted, had a very lonesome forlorn air
As she walked along, she suddenly began to hear what she thought were the sound of footsteps behind her, the tread of feet behind her...Big feet, Bom-bom-bom!
She'd turn around but couldn't see anything, not a soul and not a sound only silence
She'd continue walking and the sound of the Big feet would start up again
Naturally this began to unnerve her, she turned and called back at the shadows
"Is there anybody there?"
But no answer was forthcoming
She'd walk on and again the sound of the Big feet would come Bom-bom-bom!
By this time she had become so unnerved, so completely flummoxed that in a state of utter panic
She suddenly took off at a frantic girly gallop down the narrow backstreets
Behind her she could hear the sound of the Big feet quickening, coming after her
In a quick change of plan she decided to climb some steps that would take her back to the Main Street again
She hoped there'd be other people there who might be able to protect her
She was very disappointed then when she found not a soul upon the whole street
Well she ran and she ran, she tore down her own street and with key in hand she quickly opened her front door, then slammed it shut fastening all the locks and bolts as she did
With this done she heaved a huge sigh of relief, a huge 'Phew!" and wiped the beads of sweat from her brow
She backed slowly away from the door almost as if she was expecting at any moment, there'd be a mad pounding on it, as if some strange belligerent entity would be trying to gain entry.
She kept backing up, the suspense almost too hard to bear
Suddenly she bumped into something behind her, something big and soft... and furry
Soft and furry ???
She turned and well, her mouth, it dropped wide open in utter shock and disbelief
Her eyes, they nearly popped out of her head
For there standing before her was... THE CREATURE
"It was hideous !" she said tearfully
"What was hideous?" I replied quite intrigued at this stage
"It was a Big Rabbit !"
"A big...a Big Bunny 🐰 ?" I said
She went on explaining, standing before her was a giant seven foot Easter Bunny
"A seven footer eh!" I said as if I was knowledgeable about these things, which I wasn't
She continued with her story, the rabbit he had big floppy ears, big buck teeth, a twitchy nose and whiskers 🐰
And on his face he wore this pretty gormless vacant expression🤡
He was wearing a waistcoat which had all these Easter egg 🥚🥚 designs on it
And on his front paws were these two big red boxing gloves 🥊🥊
She looked around desperately for some means of escape but Alas!
For her THERE WAS NO ESCAPE, she swallowed hard
Suddenly the giant Rabbit's teeth began to
natter
As if he was considering some imminent action
Then totally without warning one of his boxing gloves
It suddenly shot out and punched her right on the nose knocking her clean out on the floor
As she sprawled there dazed and utterly confused, the Big Bunny, he looked down at her with his big eyes 👀
And then, with a sudden leap which surprised even her
He jumped right up onto her chest where he proceeded to bounce up and down on top of her
Of course, here she'd awaken from the dream drenched in sweat and screaming for the Giant Bunny 🐰 to get off her.
When she had finished her story she buried her head in her hands and sobbed quietly for a few moments before regaining her composure
She seemed very relieved to have gotten it all off her chest, the story that is not the Bunny
Well I suppose she was glad to get him off as well
She went on to say how stressed she felt during the day, how she found it hard to focus on anything as she was too busy thinking about the night to come and the arrival of her unwelcome guest
She looked at me pleadingly "He'll be there again, I know it, with those big eyes of his" she blubbed half in tears
It seemed obvious to me what'd happened, mentally she'd been beating herself up
And now her Subconscious was merely reciprocating by creating this giant Bunny to chastise her
It was just a manifestation of the guilt she felt for eating the Easter egg
For a moment I felt like I was Sigmund Freud.
I told her what I thought and said she shouldn't beat herself up, I told her we all had our temptations and that at times, few of us were strong enough to withstand their advances
I told her of the importance of forgiving herself
But nothing seemed to placate her
She still seemed overly concerned about the coming night and the prospect of the giant Bunny's re-appearance
She catastrophized and saw only dark things ahead
I knew I had to say something authoritive
Suddenly I had an idea, I put my arm around her shoulders as if to console her
"Look my child", I said really beginning to warm to my Father Confessor role
"The Beast! Do you really want rid of this Beast ?"
"Yes! I do! I do!", she replied emphatically
"Really! You really want to get rid of him!" I said as if to question her resolve
"Yes! Yes! I'd do anything" she replied
I felt we had to send a strong message to her Subconscious mind -
I told her "This is what you must do. After work go down to the same Sweet shop and there buy the most expensive ornate Box of Chocolates you can find 🎁
But this time instead of bringing them home with you, bring them instead to my house...
To the above advice I added a few more instructions
"And that's all I have to do" she said sounding surprised and hopeful once again
"That's all you have to do", I assured her, "you'll have no more trouble from IT ever again".

So in the evening she arrives at my house with a big box of fancy chocolates
I open the door and abruptly ****** the chocolates from off her
I say loudly "These Chocolates are all mine and you can't have any of them
Lovely Chocolates... and their all mine, all mine!!!
And you're not getting any!"
And I let out this evil cackle of a laugh
Then I said rather theatrically to her "**** off!, Get lost! Shoo! Begone! Begone!
And then I slammed the door right in her face
After a few moments I opened the door again
And began to chase her down the path shouting "Begone! Begone! The Chocolates are mine! All mine!"
I even picked up a stick and shook it at her.

The next morning she runs up to me at work with a big smile
"He's gone ! He didn't come last night"
She looked renewed, she positively glowed again
She assured me I'd be her friend for life and that she loved me to bits
For a moment I was beginning to fancy my chances with her
I had visions of the two of us together in some romantic scene
That was until she went on and said that I reminded her of her lovely Uncle Joe
"Her Uncle Joe", I thought, "****!... feckin' Uncle Tom"
Then I thought I should have charged her, yea! charged her just like a hospital consultant
$250 Euros upfront and come back in two weeks for another $250, sorry for a check up I mean.

Well that's it then... that's my Easter story, I've got to go off now and take my afternoon nap
Y'know I've been getting some funny dreams of my own of late,
Yea! I've made a new friend
He's been teaching me how to box.

Service station blues:
another meal beside the news
station stand, and as Tuesday
clicks into Wednesday
I wait in no queue to be served
by no one.

From behind the
confectionery battlement,
decorated with the money-off-percent
products below,
a professional service station stalker
walked closer,
(hopefully to queue in the no one
queue beside, behind, next to and near
me).

We waited together for some
service in the service station queue,
as midnight became morning,
black sky to blue.

Her smile is a rush of a syringe; pushing deep within mine arteries, loaded. Her laugh is addictive, sedatation entereth me. I flyeth higher than any dope fix canst get. She hit's fast, quick; as her eye's art chocolate diamond's that hang on star-night string's, shiny, divined Pearl's wrapped in elegant Filipino linen of a queen. O' mine Asian dream, cometh into mine sleep and feeleth me, cometh in: the door's open, none hellion aloud to pass nor enter, just a place for us to swim. Whilst making affectionate confectionery amour' on thy foreign shore's, mantra's shalt be said as both of ourn name's art whispered: the setting sun to be the picture that goeth down as we dont stop the rolling around until dusk.




©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane nagley ( Filipino rose) dedication

duckling
in return for pity i offer you these
meagre meals:
my heart, substantial not to breathe from my chest but the offer will suffice.
bitten down nails -
stained confectionery colors, a brittle bone penance
stuffed thick cartilage
watery canthus
pure blood and guts that once held me upright.
I can only pray you'll forgive that I know
these choice cuts are not enough.

The circular confectionery tin has been there every Christmas
often replaced, often changed for a different brand
either way
every year we curse our brains and slap our wrists
for the temptation which overwhelms us
and our carefree nature, wholeheartedly encouraged by our family
''Go on, it's Christmas.''

And so, which one do we select?
of course, the one we like the most
the one with the prettiest wrapper
or the smoothest taste
the one we laugh, bewildered at others for not liking

Sneaking downstairs at night to grab a handful of our favourite flavour
to make sure nobody else can have your preference
until
eventually
all of your favourites are gone
so you settle for the ones you like, but would never choose originally
these are the second best chocolates
they have a mediocre wrapper and a pleasant taste
but they are nothing compared to the ones you would always choose

But now, you've had all of these as well
and you stare into the near-empty tin, rattling with the dull sound of the unwanted chocolates
for a moment you contemplate why anybody would eat those ones first
the colours are mundane and the taste is far from favourable

until somebody else walks past
and they peer into the tin
a hint of pleasant surprise sounds from their lips
''Oh, my favourite.''
And they select the 'dullest' chocolate left in the tin
because the faded purple is their favourite colour
and the sharp taste of orange lacquer is their favourite taste
and they wonder why you ate all the caramel chocolates first
because they would have left them until last

And now the tin is empty
every chocolate loved
by a different person
with a different taste
and when you think about what you truly love
you finally understand

i

Confectionery amour', quiet peaceful girl, flower haired gem
Whilst we maketh love to the old spinning record, eyes content;
The moon to leadeth ourn feet, bathed in chocolate fountain,
We prance as freely Galloper's, thither the desert, cool mountain

ii

I'll meeteth thee at the playground, inked in ourn red blotch,
No ticking tumultuous hand, to ruin ourn plan's, none to watch;
A private invitation, a rosey petal to surrender thine oath and vow, a seeded rightful city, conversation open and aroused

iii

Charlatan's to be naysayer's, exactly as the rest hath becometh,
Ourn cloak's to be as spiritual coat's, dashing in none repugnance
The waterside to be ourn resting residence, the pasture plain's to awaken ourn brain's, as we shalt be marksmen of lass and lad.



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry

Can this be my candy kingdom?
Solipistic modifier
Confectionery sweets make my teeth feebler
Weaker
the confines of my mind let me linger

Why can't I stop Abstracting
Is that a bad thing?
What is real and what isn't
Catch me navel-gazing

introspective nonsense
ruminating.
Can it be illuminating?
My mind feels fuzzy

I'll tell you one thing
...
Could this be my candy kingdom?
pondering.

Like a sweet tooth,
I ache to satisfy the
burning longing
to have a taste of you.

I crave your inviting eyes
that explored my
chocolate sprinkled skin,
and the wandering hands
that they belonged to.

I thirst to lick your sugared lips,
covered with fine, powdered
evidence of jelly-filled
baked confectionery.

I indulge in the attention
that you surround me in,
and like a candy covering,
your sweet embrace
empowers my
strawberry taste.

I graze the sweetness
of your mouth with the
tip of my tongue and swallow,
feeling your sweetness
spread over my taste buds,
sending me on a sugar high
that pumped me with
delicious satisfaction
until I crackle
like the opening
of a soda can.

If my path was lucky enough to ever cross yours again, I would tell you that in one of the filed away boxes, in my heart, beneath these ribs, are the dreams that I wished would soar higher and stronger than the winds, like birds that fly between the heavens. I am a statue at the mercy of the world, standing at the shoreline facing the cliff, I've never seen a blue, as blue as the sea, it sparkled like a jewel that I longed to possess, still it failed to make me feel happy. It's all I've ever wanted. But I never knew that I would feel homesick. The dreams sank as I trudged away, on and ahead in quicksand searching for the spiders web of coloured string. It was all I imagined and more, vibrant, tantalizing and visually pleasing, the real thing was much better than the dream. But when the adrenaline burned off I had dreamless nights and during the day I looked for another Prozac, something as beautiful as the powdery soft pastel colours of these little flowers I discovered last summer. Last week on another one of my unplanned trips I returned, with a sporadic buy of thirteen woven friendship bracelets, that inspired a familiar feeling, I could not bare to leave them. As I opened the suitcase finding a pocket I could stash them in, I came across the butterfly necklace forgotten yet hidden so well. It was zipped away and wrapped in a used tissue that I wiped my tears with when you put it on for me. I wondered about the past that I had forced from my mind and examined it for clues of my carefully planned life to which I stubbornly adhered to. Waves of obsessions and phases lapped at the edges and over spilt. Echoes of songs I was addicted to, replayed again and again for months on end until I felt sick. How I got into baking, cakes and sweets all kinds of confectionery. I baked day and night, treats for everyone who knew me. That was just me. If I loved something I loved it. And if I hated something I hated it. It was always just black or white. Too much or none at all. But nothing ever stuck, it never lasted. If I wanted it, I made it happen until it lost my interest. The necklace was my own iconic bombshell. I still love that butterfly necklace, I still love you. It was my own currency, an expired ticket to the absent happiness, it was the golden treasure once the dust from my eye had been removed.

Nostalgic butterfly's of confectionery Felicity
Whilst the draft sways to ourn archaic old style fenestella
Thou wilt be that Cinderella
As I mineself shalt be thy consort savior!!!!

Sentiments to hang as beads
Wherein ourn pictures wilt mark the streets
A Spaniard a Greek freak leaving puddles
Of ourn good tidings!!!!

Daisies shalt grow
Around ourn ancient abode
Yet even with none home
I already knoweth thou art mine roost!!!

I'll giveth thou confidence
If thyself shalt giveth me a boost
And telleth me
Thou loveth mine all

For
Tis I make mistakes
One day a beast
The next an angel
Yet canst thou forgiveth me?

For thou art mine flower bud rose
The comfort in mine toes
In between wherein the warmth never fades

Taketh me tomorrow amare
If thou dares
Do not leaveth
For we got now!
Today!!!!

For whilst I'm still a fool
At least I can say honesty
I'm a fool for thou!!!

Morning birds sing the praises of Dawn in the confectionery forest of home
Red-Tip hedges bustle with Springlike description , Mother Jay cackle and Eastern Gray playful volition
Simple shaded homes bursting with the wonders of rebirth , sunshine canopies appear as visions to Heaven , Red Fox banter in the Sorghum plat lowland , sprite Doves working fields of Millet and Sunflower , Magpie guards , tickled and curt
Hunter Bluebirds falling to earth for grasshoppers , back to the "Crows Nest" in their continual search

A rural lady
With her ten year old baby
Comes in the market
Wearing old chappal in feet
and ghaghra- lugdi on body
While daughter in salwar-suit
Both are walking on the road
Without any fear of heat strokes
of forty five high temperatures
Looking at a confectionery shop on the way
Child's heart is tempting
Mother understands the matter of her mind
Without worrying about her poverty
She bought her a "kachori" for ten
Baby takes "kachori" in her hand
and walks with pride n all smiles
Soon baby starts eating
the "kachri " during moving on their way
It is the beauty of childhood
Which do not see the place
Just finishes the purse of mind anywhere it finds a space
This is the thing that shows the height of the relationship
That makes parents god for children
So maybe God is also pleased
Because in the summer we
avoid eating oil made items
On the other hand mother feeding goodwill probably do not harm health
Rupees Money Jewelry Clothing Is not anything
Only mother is everything
Winter heat rain can't break
the mother's protection
Because mother's love is pure
supreme of the super
Which is formidable
to every weather and obstacle

My sense of taste has turned liquid
and melted away like soft butter.
I need it to savor the summer days
of my inner orchard. I need it to
open like a pomegrante blossom.
I need a bite of the powered sugar moon.
I want to savor amber pears falling
from laden boughs, the plasy juice
of ripe peaches.

I crave the smooth velvet richness
of a mouthful of langage,
heaping spoonfuls of words
sweetened by liquid light,
the flavor of mellow memories.
I need poetry full of pastry –
« sugar pyramids of confectionery . »

Taste, where have you gone ? Have you
fled from the wineglass weary of holding wine ?
Must I create a feast of literary edibles
to get you back ?

White cream
You are the ultimate luxury. There is a great altar of love in me, you are so beautiful that you want to worship and kiss your feet, bow and bow before your divine beauty, there are powerful vibrations of love emanating from my soul, these are powerful signals of a deep obsession with love. The fire of my infinite love for you will illuminate and burn this world and hundreds of billions of worlds around me, my love is deeper than the universe itself, my whole inner world is dedicated only to you alone, all my thinking is crazy and dreams of you, everything says in me that I need only you are one among all worlds and universes.
It seems to me that my ***** will explode with *****, the heart will not sustain a huge amount of love, and the mind will go crazy. Thoughts about you are a cute sweet ****** of true love feelings. My heart is the soul of the soul and my male ****** ***** are completely in love with you, it is useless to even try to fall in love with another, it is absolutely useless, because I only want you alone in the whole universe.
The taste of your kisses is the taste of your sweet tender soul, these are kisses of higher and at the same time deep feelings. I want to thoroughly insatiably lick and kiss literally every millimeter of your body and soul. From your kiss and touch, I fly away to nirvana, it's a billion times better than *** is a taste of true love, a trillion times better than anything else in this universe. Emotions are amplified trillions of times and the heart is supposedly stopping now from a high amount of heartbeat, adrenaline of love and happiness is going through the roof. I feel nothing but love, passion, excitement and delight, only true happiness from the fact that you are with me.
You are my ****** *** muse of true love, ****** relaxation music. You are a flame that caresses, but does not burn. Cold, but sweet like an ice cream you quickly conceal from caress, sweet as sugar. You are a sweet white cream, skin like white snow. You are a masterpiece of confectionery, a divine dessert, too much juicy and sweet as the most expensive, precious delicacy of the highest pleasure.
Seconds with you are priceless, it seems that life has not lived in vain. I would have pounced like a wild lion on you with kisses. You are light as a cloud. You have the sweetest skin tone, the rarest and the most perfect one for the envy of all, so soft, tender, sensually ****. It seems that the most beautiful and fashionable created for your image.
My male ****** ***** is in love only with you, he is obsessed with your beauty, he wants and loves you more and more powerful, every day he longs for you more and more and it cannot be stopped. I feel powerful to what extent you are beautiful. You are the supreme pleasure and bliss for my eyes, nerves, the heart seems to break from love, and the soul as if wants to escape from my body and have wild *** with your soul.
Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich

Merlot lips, promises sugary sweet
My candy girl invites with a treat
Her skin a study in creamy perfection
With her cherry lollipop, she gives direction

A music conductor with her baton
Directing my tongue hither and yon
Her natural flavors mingled with cherry
Saccharine sweet she is confectionery

Sticky and sweet loving complete
Into the shower to make us all neat
Washing and rubbing start a fire
Electrocuting each other, sparks from a wire

It is amazing what a Lollipop can do
Sweet little treat for me and for you
How many licks does it take to be gone
As many as possible just follow along.

Took, passing, as
my chosen word
a comfort-food of preference,
celestial confectionery,
indulgent mewl of movement.

It's a prudent lie
I stir myself

this spoon
of porch-light parable,
a home-brewed benediction
simpers, intimate angelica

infallible
as love....

The sweetest of confectionery,
I swirl among my basin’s waves
The nectar of life’s love,
I embrace for such pain
An effluence of pure ecstasy,
I erupt to merely contain

Such haste, It pervades
The roots run deep, feel no hurt
The streams dig deeper, feel no fire
The thoughts fall deepest, feel no thing
Metallic clouds cover
a kingdom of sand

Not a chasm
Not a prison
Freedom tingles
I feel in every part,
the luxury inside

Yet it stops, I shiver
I drop,
I flop,
all is cold

I look into their eyes,
Empty holes,
speak goodbyes

No joy
None no more

All that lies of me,
is blinding foam,
dripping to the floor

The uniquely introspective question every juvenile asks themselves during the excruciating course of an ill-prepared meal. Will I receive the confectionery goodies after and for my sufferance? Will it (and I) be worth it in the end? The answer however, by some freak misfortune lies, rather peevishly, aloft a menacing tower of retrospective terrors. When we kindle the flames of love it is never with the ebbing expectations of failure and dreadful alienation. When we answer the call only the implicitly irrational entities known as our "hearts" hear it is without hesitation (often times) that we go jumping and skipping at the very real risk of falling to our deaths. There's one question we should be asking ourselves and our accomplices: what then happens if and when Love dies? Who will bury him/her? Who will mourn them? Where will Love go after their death? Alright, maybe the queries are more numerous than I have been led to believe but my entreating stands and with veracity. Just as a child gobbling down the few remnant bits of a negligible dinner has his thoughts and focus trained on the prospects of a smooth session with a delectable treat, so too should the hopelessness of lovers be curated by a foreboding sense of the impending if not inevitable demise of affection.

To clarify, I am not a "cynic" nor am I advocating for the altogether culling of idealism and romance, a despot I am not.