She comes to me every night...
When all is asleep with stars lit yonder.
Comes to me with subtle might
Peeking fiendishly from darkness's cover

Await such time she'd choose to show
Await the chance to finally take.
Ready to pounce like a well tensioned bow
Arrow-like talons, ever honed to stake.

Awake or asleep, she would come without fail.
Creep is her gait; this shadow clad figure.
Always a ***** in my impervious mail.
Claiming her wants with ferocious fervour.

Deemed to be strong, easier to succumb.
Don't fight...don't struggle... Don't call for aid...
Just wait and will yourself numb
She'd come regardless of prayers that's said.

She was here with me last night
In bed, I stared at a being that's faceless...
And my heart wrenched tight.
Gripping and feeding me senseless...

Soon as she came, she left but not before
Siphoning the good and replacing with dread...
Stole was what she did; left me wanting more...
Once deed is done, into the dark she fled.

I know her all too well,
Nocturnal guest that I unknowingly invite
Her intentions to incite, not quell
Send me spiralling through emotional blight.

Day will recede, making room for dark
She'll come; swift and without sound.
She'll arrive majestic; inflicting her mark
I'll wait for her, ready and unbound.

Looking forward to her return
This silent foe whom I find familiar.
With every touch I cringe and burn
Oh secret friend whom I'm beginning to savour...

She is synonymous with various names
Each would bear the likeness of semblance
Let fly her cloak of not dissimilar aims
Endearingly I call her...,

Despondence...

Magical cauldron apomixes connoisseur              
Cephalic phantasmagoria entity obliquitous        
Mystical conjurous conjugal entrepreneur                        
Fantasia fantastication phantasm obsequious
Amorously arduous ardent raconteur
Ephemeral translucent opulence ubiquitous            
Vanity sanctimonium temerities saboteur
Intrepid verve’s intriguingly iniquitous
Sorcerous sabbatical apothegms chauffeur
Endemic veracities fortuitous elicitous

Futurity fatidics fornication kithe                        
Ephemeral metaphor semantics flaunts
Empirical emulation scenarios blithe
Subjunctive subliminal nostalgias haunts
Agile articulation acuities lithe                          
Analogizing corroborative prolificacy daunts
Alacritous tactile manipulations writhe
Numinous syntactical paradigm *****                  
Emanate imminent perdition tithe
Orotund jaded seal ordinand jaunts
                                                          ­                                        
Overt convection coercions chiaroscuro tempestuous                                                  
Ape­x crux axis ****** matrix torrid                        
Manifest objectified enamorous interstice lecherous
Spurt binge spree ***** protuberance squalid
  
endearingly engendering amore

I'm half asian so everyone thinks I speak 'asian'
Which just goes to show their ignorance, thinking that's a language
Another strange causation because of my 'asianness' is that I:
Can always win arguements with Wyatt by stating this fact
Was declared a ninja even before my skills were proven
I surprise people with my appearance and when I reveal my ethnicity as they believe initially that I'm mexican, italian, or spanish
Was assumed to have gone to the same church as all the others
Am considered strange, exotic, weird, genius, awesome, and stupid
Am endearingly called a 'short asian woman/lady/girl' by friends
Oh and I love love love love chopsticks, rice, and spicy foods.
Pass the srirachi and pepper please

There was a smitten kitten, too hot to wear mittens,
whose conventions sent you over the moon.
She liked hiking tall towers,
sniffing lavender flowers
and smiling when tunes were crooned.

It is known and it's written,
many cats liked Smitten Kitten,
some still do to this day.
There were polecats, fat cats, tall cats, small cats and cats that were all work and no play.
There were fast cats, scaredy-cats and cats who only came out at night or the day.
There were even other kittens,
too hot for their mittens,
who loved when she'd come out to play.
All were fun,
had their day in the sun,
but none purred smitten kitten the right way.

It has been said and has been written that smitten kitten,
too hot for her mittens,
without pretense or condition,
had a purring penchant for cellar rats and precision in the kitchen.
In the French district downtown,
near the alleys by the Sound,
some nights she waits for one Ronin Chef,
for last time he left,
a tall and a tasty treat.
Smitten Kitten gives pause,  
relaxes her claws,
licking her paws...she wishes,
for his white wine-kissed elaborate fish dishes
and dreams of what next he will make.
Her tongue and mouth can’t wait.

Tonight it occurs,
he arrives...she purrs,
on the alley wall she curls up and takes a seat.
Endearingly peering through the window...she thinks...
"Whilst he stack his plates with mouth-watering innuendo?"
"Whilst he whip the spicy sauces and flames into a great crescendo?"
He begins...as so...
He chops and he flips sizzled serranos, hot on the lips,
and stacks seasoned seafood high on a plate.
His old radio is tuned
to a station crooning tunes,
twisting tongs and spinning spoons,
the One Ronin chef shoots for the moon.
The chef vigorously bakes and flambés,
stirs curds away,
hands so fast it's alluringly blurring.
He says not a word nor nary a chanced glance occurring.
Smitten Kitten's eyes glazed,
her mouth watering for "amaze"!
Food spins, is seared and is braised.
pots clambered!
hot buns glazed!
fruit hammered!
Sauces ablaze!
Bang, Boom!!

Alas it was done,
Her heart and appetite had been won.
And the chef began to tear the kitchen down and moved out of sight.
Suddenly she scampered and hid,
as a savory stacked plate was slid
carefully out the backdoor and out of the way.

The chef it occurs
had made it for her,
and her fur began to frazzle and fray.  
She sniffed the array of flavor,
her palette began to saveur,
the salt,
the unami,
the spicy and sweet.

It is said and is written,
from Smitten Kitten’s first bite bitten,
she remains stunned, amazed and enamored, to this day.

Alone within my emotional wilderness

A reverie along memory lane when, this lviii sea sunned
row man (stills paddles in oarlocks and serenely quizzically,
lackadaisically, and harmoniously drifts) along the slip
stream of time. Awash on his figurative manual navigated
opportunistic prideful quintessential schooner reflects,
regales, and revisits ebbing lapsed instances (fast receding
into the past time, when psychological instability grounded
fragile my self esteem (generated venting, steaming, and
piping hot brickbats). As a newly minted harrumphing,
grubbing, and floundering dada enmeshment (analogous
to a fish caught in a net, hence quickly ricocheting, rabidly
splashing, and sloppily thrashing) predicated my foray
into das fatherhood. Aye experienced nearest approximation
Bing battered, rammed, and torpedoed from glomming
(par for the course riot ting heaps) necessarily imposed
adult responsibility. Such metaphorical motoring across
avast Battle Creek with no landfall in sight, this then nada
so Grand Turk (key in the straw) Otto man continually
snapped, cracked and popped. This human ping-pong
fitbit part player papa felt akin to subjection re: thralldom).
At this juncture in me cross currents of existence I can
harken back to those most exhausting, fatiguing, and
grueling endeavors. Hindsight offers this aging baby
boomer the luxury to cast astern. Retrospective leisurely
trawls along the shoals throes of fatherhood allow,
enable and provide and opportunity to scrutinize per
chance, where arises this on account of the empty nest
syndrome. Ordinarily the wife (i.e. missus to appear
more formal), would caw out my name nonstop….
”Matt”…”Matt”…”Matt”…, but she opted to organize
the cluster of assorted household items at the apart
ment (located in Crum Lynne – Ridley Township),
we hope to move within a fortnight. Thy spouse
volunteered her own mini reprieve by setting order
to the miscellaneous fixings gradually amassed,
appropriated, and gifted thru out the twenty plus
years of marriage, which hodgepodge of personal
possessions downsized whence circumstance dictates
evaluating goods having keepsake meaning versus
anomaly of belongings to be unloaded, repurposed
for someone else, or ordained as unworthy to schlep.
Alone asper like a very brief sabbatical from marriage
finds stillness amidst the white noise of the whirring
fan. Thus, I sit here ruminating how to dredge up
some idea for a poem,  (non) fiction or essay. This
husband became acclimated, conditioned, and em
bossed with a mate a tete for two plus decades,
whereby both thee dos delightful daughters on
Track 742 heading west. Honest to dog, I miss
the role of fatherhood when either off spring
(with an age difference of approximately twenty
five plus months) romped, scampered, and trotted
as toddlers, and upon childhood, thy little girls
found exultant excitement dashing higgledy-
piggledy, hither and yon, to and fro across the
playground as most glorious human indulgence.
Despite the plaintive wail vis a vis Juliet saying
goodnight to Romeo (…parting is such sweet
sorrow) haint pleasurable atoll. Hitherto un
known that during the most vexing, trying,
and quaking bouts when both kin of thy ****
fought like angry cats would there transpire
the occasion of sincere tearfulness ululating
vain warbling. Now a pang of nostalgia arises
when I drive past their happy go lucky stomp
ping turf, or reflect on answering the trumpet
call to chauffer one or thee other to amusement
park, play date, mall, favorite toy store such as
Fivebelow, birthday party, et cetera. Even
certain tunes recalled to mind and/or heard
being broadcast across the audio logical spec
trum a cause for moistened tear ducts. Wince
with sadness also mixed with sigh lent bundled
expostulations of joy. Both progeny metamorphosed
into able bodied, minded and spirited lasses,
whose attainment far exceeded any projections
internally forecast. Initial onset of parent role
found me all thumbs. Prior to begetting two
darling dames, this chap spent disproportionate
number of hours sequestered within some hide
away, which frequently happened to be the
designated bedroom at 324 Level Road, College
Ville, Pennsylvania, 19010. Never did thee major
rit tee days of mine life point to babysitting or
working with that chronological demographics
comprising the adoring blessed innocence,
murmuring newborn obliviousness, that bespoke
penultimate unsullied, utmost virtue necessitating
interaction with tender infants beckoning being
cradled, endearingly fondled, demonstrably easing
fondness gripping heartstrings issue jetblue kinks.
Aye felt pitched headlong into this foreign territory,
and initially experienced utmost awkwardness when
attending, pampering and pulling (albeit gently)
upsy daisy, the nascent hint of autonomy. Remembrance
and recollection of élan, joie de vivire, and yea those
ear splitting threshold of pain screaming tantrums
all boxed into tidy wholesome Zen announcing
nuggets of greater meaningfulness and absolute
value. The above long winded reverie intended and
meant tubby a semi biography, but leave hit up to
his hie n hiss, he went way overboard, and will give
a one line summarization to describe his i.e. yours truly
life sentence fate decreed. He (this Anglophile chipper
chap lived under duress of extreme anxiety, obsessive/
compulsive behavior, panic attacks and essentially
schizoid personality disorder for the greater part
of his life and hard times, which raw bits would
warrant fleshing out to extrapolate how these psychic
pitfalls represented critical factors at various and
sundry turning points in his life.

Magical cauldron apomixes connoisseur              
Cephalic phantasmagoria entity obliquitous        
Mystical conjurous conjugal entrepreneur                        
Fantasia fantastication phantasm obsequious
Amorously arduous ardent raconteur
Ephemeral translucent opulence ubiquitous            
Vanity sanctimonium temerities saboteur
Intrepid verve’s intriguingly iniquitous
Sorcerous sabbatness apothegms chauffeur
Endemic veracities fortuitous elicitous

Futurity fatidic's fornication kithe                        
Ephemeral metaphor semantics flaunts
Empirical emulation scenarios blithe
Subjunctive subliminal nostalgias haunts
Agile articulation acuities lithe                          
Analogizing corroborative prolificacy daunts
Alacritous tactile manipulations writhe
Numinous syntactical paradigm *****                  
Emanate imminent perdition tithe
Orotund jaded seal ordinand jaunts
                                                          ­­                                        
Overt convection coercions chiaroscuro tempestuous                                                  
Ape­­x crux axis ****** matrix torrid                        
Manifest objectified enamorous interstice lecherous
Spurt binge spree ***** protuberance squalid
  
endearingly engendering amore

Call me a morning ******
I can refract the light and mess
up your bedhead further
Concentrate on my better
mistakes
I can do my best, maybe just for you

-cj

Alabaster Archipelagos
Benevolent Beauty Beaming
Constructive Contradictive Creative Contemplations
Dante's Darling Dances Deliberating Denominatives
Effervescent Escapisms Endearingly Emerge Elusive Edens  
Fantastic Flamboyant ******* Flamed Fabulous Fiery Flickerings
Gorgeous Garden Gim'memores Gaudied Garnishing Gasps
Heavenly Hues Humming Heart's Harmonies
Immortaly Impregnated Inspired Ideals
Jessamin Jargon Jacuzzi Jams
Know-how Knacking Knurls
Light-spirited Lovers
Merge Magnificent
Naked Nocturno Nights
Omnipresent Ousia Over Odeons
Palpitations Perfect Peaks Pi Paws
Quintessential Quality Quarrels Question Quarks Quietness
Rododendron's Richameters Rescued Raw Reeling Ruby Realms
Sentient Syllabic Sapfo's Splendidly Spirited Semantics
Turning Turner's Timeless Timeless Twinklings
Unified Undulatory Unsolved Unicorns
Velvety Venice Voyages
Wanton Wantings
Xsylophone Xsantiphas
Yearnin' Yuki's Yen
Zed's Zealous Zen-it-hall Zeppelins

For it is this love, that I feel,
Sleepless nights, restless days, letting play the reel
Of film that shows how my life does look and feel.

Oh for when I see this form Adonis may it not be similar to,
But Aphrodite has something up her sleeve, a thing or two
About how this network of unrequited love will just end up sad and blue.

I do wish you the best of luck in everything you love,
Sadly I can't wish you to love me, to the heavens above.
It is now that I should try to let go of this dove.

To this dove that I loved endearingly,
To this dove that was close to me adoringly,
To this dove that I will bid farewell agonizingly.

I just keep on holding on
To this love that will dawn upon
Me the finality of this feeling that will be gone.

But it's you why I keep on hoping
That our love is just in the making.
I hope I won't be forever longing.

I can fall in love with your words,
Without ever meeting the person behind them.
I could be infatuated by what you have to say,
Without ever hearing a moments speech from your lips,
Feel touched without the need for physical embrace,
Because every emotion shared is a kind of kiss.

It's certainly not romantical (although it offers no barriers to such),
No, this is something far more real,
Transcending the animal need for the flesh to intertwine,
So much more than the roundabout hellos and goodbyes,
Beating even the are you OKs and I feel that way toos.

It's the simple "I am here. This is me."
So glorious in its simplicity that it could break a heart,
Or mend it, depending on the reciever,
Although I suppose the point is there is no reciever,
Like the triumphant cry of the lone mountaineer,
Or the screams of a mother who's lost her child,
Only far more composed in their release.

I sometimes feel like I'm reading words not meant for my eyes,
(And, in a sense, I suppose they're not).
They are far more beautiful than words that need to be read,
These are words that were meant to be written.

I find myself hating humanity to its very core,
Although each individual has traits I love endearingly-
Every last one- (even ****** created works of beauty),
But you, who have encapsulated a piece of divinity,
Within such common things as words - I love you more.

Heart beat mad into chest.
Introduction to one-gloved hand,
soft as silk and
hectic as twenty-first century sunlight shining on 1942 stone architecture.

Terrible stench upon entering,
dripping from the bag
tossed into the metal disposable bin.
Echoes; dins.  

Flint carved sharp into shears
plagiarism down to the wire.
Preposition, search the list for antonyms  
and synonyms
and cannibalism dream that wakes a man up
at an hour, two hours too early.

Eye problems from staring at the computer screen.
And leaning, fast and forward into the face
of a full grown, beard.
A laugh, much too much like the written down
pronunciation.
False, endearingly false.

What do you call people endearingly?
Sugar
Honey
Dumpling
Lemon Meringue Pie
I get hungry thinking of things to call her
Love
Babe
Baby
Darling
Am I being old-fashioned? Do people still speak this way?
My dark angel
Mon cherie
Deliciae meae
Dove
Doll
What to say?

Ronnie couldn’t talk
And be rhymless at all.
He could barely walk,
I'm pretty sure he'd fall,
Unless he was rhyming.
He said to me, “You see
The thing is with me
It all has to do with timing.

The cadence when I walk
Become words I hear,
The beat when someone talks
Makes a poem in my ear,
Then the rhyming begins
And seems to make good sense.
The words like magic appear
Poetic possibilities immense.”

All of the time I knew him
It seemed to be the truth
He rhymed almost constantly
From his very verbal youth.
He was like a Hallmark card
Sometimes saying pithy things
That fit the moment exactly
And had that ***** ring.

But other times his utterances
Were acerbic and very witty.
When it came to sarcastic tilt
He was the Mayor of Snark City.
Or he could rhyme endearingly
And paint pictures with his words
Saying some of the nicest things
That were ever put into words.

Yes, he was Rhyming Ronnie,
A poem for any current thought.
You couldn’t stump him even once.
At least not that I ever caught.
Ryan was amazing for sure
And some found it rather vexing.
But oh boy in the internet age
It came in handy when texting!

She explained, as she passed him the coffee,
“I just keep dreaming that I am a couch”
His eyebrows lifted,
a smirk played on his lips.
Asked her if it was the couch they were sat on now,
Crushed green velvet and
endearingly hideous.
She glowered, said
She wished he’d take her seriously.
“But your body writhes in curious convulsions,
You fill the cottage with ear piercing screams-
Can it be that bad, being a couch?”

She declared that he would not understand,
Could not see what was worse
than his dreams of combat;
gunshot night terrors
she’d never hear.


He insisted, “explain”. So she told
of the aching void beyond her couch-body.
How paralysed, she would flail vainly
Cushions muffling her hungry screams
of longing for oceanic adventures.
He watched the sun through the sway of the trees,
form a moving lattice upon her shoulders,
Mused of his cravings for their living room
from his bunk at sea.

She watched him, watching her,
and knew,
He’d never understand her couch-dreams.
They sat in silence, holding their coffee,
And accepted their anharmonic lives.

Come, scream my name as I fly down the hall
chattering like a bird, my hair soaring like wings.
You can see me.
I pretend not to notice the world, even though I do.
It's just easier this way.
I spot you on the stairs,
Just a glimpse and my veins turn to ice,
rooting me to the spot.
You infuriate me and criticize my every word.
If I were a Jane Austen character, I might find you irritating.
I might find you slightly jerkish.
I would certainly not find you endearingly charming.
I certainly don't see you as such, where did you get such a ridiculous idea?
You're just a possibility, a marked-out one at that.
Not yet real enough to hazard a guess.
All I know is you're different from anything I've ever encountered:
A peacock in Antarctica,
A shaft of sunlight in an attic,
A diving stick in the shallow end,
Coffee, drunk black, when the barrista serves me creamer
and all I wanted was a taste of it undiluted and strong.
All I know is one day, I'll look outside my bubble and up the stairs
and there you will be.
I won't look away.
You won't either.
Then my face will turn the color of tomato soup,
I will find it becoming increasingly more difficult to breathe,
and everyone's eyes will pierce through me like tissue paper.
I will fly down the hall, chattering
chattering like a bird in a cage.
I will pretend not to notice the world.
I will pretend not to notice you pretending not to notice me.
It's just easier that way.

In this life, we are all placed
into a category from birth:
Alphas or Epsilons, firsts and lasts.

And the Alphas go on to live beautiful lives
with wonderful significant others and
successful children and
fulfilled dreams and
intelligent thoughts and
perfect luck.

And the Epsilons go on to live sub par lives
with average significant others and
delinquent children and
nonexistent dreams and
subservient thoughts and
no knowledge or experience of luck.

But Epsilons are so endearingly stupid
that you cannot help but feel sorry for them
and so we pretend to love them, we tell them
that they are special, that they are beautiful.

But there is nothing more dangerous than allowing
an Epsilon to have a sense of self-worth, of self-respect
because once they believe that they are more than the picture
you have painted of them, they will refuse you and your
inadequate "love".

Everyone falls for the Alphas, darling.
It's the natural order of things

And we, the Epsilons, we go on living
our insignificant,
sub par,
hopeless
little Epsilon lives.

Tell me Pluto,
how does it feel
to be told you’re a planet for years
and then labelled as an accessory for our solar system?
But also, to be reassured, that although you’re small,
you’re just as good as the rest,
and endearingly enough,
someone’s favourite planet?

And while you sit on the outskirts,
in the far, vast, pitch black
edges of a far brighter galaxy than you,
do you marvel at the beauty and size
of every other planet judged more
legitimate and important than you,
and do you make friends with the microscopic stars?

You are told you aren’t what you are,
and you are what you aren’t,
I wouldn’t blame you for drifting further,
I think I would probably do the same.
But know some are very passionate
about your state in our galaxy,
many people believe you to be of importance;
whether it’s nostalgia, empathy or just fear of change.
Regardless, you have a small army
of people who are very vocal,
about your right to be alongside with all the other planets.

Just because you’re small
and not as visually appealing as the rest,
or because you’re pushed to the coldest, darkest regions of space, does not make you deserving of isolation.
Infact, it makes you more worthy of adoration.
For you Pluto, for all the hardships
and all the abandonment you have felt,
you have never told another planet they themselves,weren’t real,
and you’ve never drawn anyone close to you,
to suffer in your loneliness.

Life is so friggin' weird, I'll tell ya.
The older you get, the weirder it gets,
and it just keeps on getting weirderer.

Grossly weird.
Wrongly and disturbingly weird.
Upsettingly weird.

But then, now and again,
pleasantly weird.
Delightfully, excitingly weird.
Weirdly endearingly weird.

Then weirder still.
Off-puttingly weirder.
Over-sweetly weirdly weirder.
Understatedly, low-key weirder to the highest degree contradictory weird.

Maybe weird isn't so weird after all.
When it's the only constant in life,
then weirdness becomes the only reliably normal thing, oddly enough.

Burn it.

The charm of Endearingly Different
The Elegance of Eloquence
The Stage upon which I perform for the
You I do not know.

The airless chambers in which we pretend to breathe
Burn them.
Burn your favorite things to hide behind
My perfect little oddities

More and more these days
The nights seem quieter
The days shorter
And in the sterile hours of sleep
I pray for ashen rain.

This world is spinning
And my head along with it
So I just sit writing
And wait for a hit

That magical moment
When I cannot stop
And my fingers take charge
Recording my thoughts

That time when life
Reveals itself
And it’s all I can do
To contain myself

That moment of joy
That feeling of grace
Where all the words
Fall into place

When I saw you
And sat here and wrote
My thoughts anew

So much beauty and poise
I just want to speak my thoughts
But I cannot make a noise

So instead I sit
In front of this machine
Watching my fingers flit
From key to key

Seemingly random
These thoughts enter my head
I see them differently
Things of beauty instead

Thoughts of you
And who you are
Where you are from
What your joys are

Your amazing smile
That takes a place
Of great wonder
On your face

Your laugh so sweet
I could listen for days
Your quirks so endearing
They make me crazed

These sights I see
And feelings I feel
Sometimes I wonder
If they could be real

For never before
Have I felt like that
And never before
Have I seen anyone like that

I would walk the world over
For another chance
To see you smile
And watch your eyes dance

Beautiful
And endearingly shy,
As awkward as me
And I don’t know why.


And no matter
How hard I try
I can’t shake that feeling

The feeling of longing
And the wish for your warmth
The ability to hold you
In my arms

To sit and talk
And laugh away
To be with you
Each day.

My fingers brush lightly across the smooth keys, trying to find my way around these jumbled letters. My mind wonders freely with no restrains, allowing every thought to devour me, slowly ripping into their lifeless prey; savoring each bite until there lay a stack of bones.

The whistle pierces my cold ears beyond belief, breaking through the field of wheat, and past the garden of falling blue roses. It meets my face, an unnerving gust activating chills down my back, separating each hair on my head, and eventually leaving them twined as the stars surround me in a whirlwind.

My feet begin to rise from the dusted old black and white ground, into an abyss of dark, mysterious void. Puzzle pieces lost, frantically trying to find their place as they scramble somewhere in the ruins of what’s left.

“Mommy,” she calls, “Mommy?” The cringing cry of a small child realizing the lonesome truth of what is causes the cold object in my chest to burst into life and my legs to move at the speed of light.

“Hello?” my voice strains, only leaving an abundance of echo in this meaningless storm. “Who’s there?”

In a moment of sorrow, I feel a small and fragile hand slowly wrap around mine, cold and ever-so gentle her grasp. This tiny figure standing just a couple feet off the ground looks up at me endearingly, edging me on into something unknown. Her eyes, which sparkled with virtue and purity, widens as terror consumed every last morsel of her being.

My hand dropped in weightless gravity as she loosened her grasp and stepped back into the shadows, her silhouette gradually demolishing. I peered in her direction before becoming engulfed in such obscurity; the sound of a rock against payment brought my attention to a darting object running toward the vast woods.

“Wait! What’s your name? I beg of you, wait!” I begin to chase her through sharp trees and branches, feeling the sting of pain creep up on me.

“Please. Don’t.” Her words linger through the air.

The fog distorts my vision; I see a vacant old house when the trees fade from our path, in the midst of darkened clouds the little girl appears. Her thin delicate arm spreads out, pointing her index finger.

My eyes meet her gaze and I see it – drawing closer to us… the red balloon.

Blessed is she who comes across,
A man so pure and full of love.
Who devoutly reveres his beloved,
To miss out would be  a vast loss.


A man like mine,
Perfection in human form.
Oh how he is flawless,
A personality which endearingly shines.

He posses a touch to admirable to be factual,
A voice that makes you feel at home,
A smile that says you’re not alone,
A body so desirable, so ****, so practical.

A love like the finest of wine,
Each day it gets better,
Nothing but better,
A love so sensibly divine.


When you have a love like ours,
You’ll learn there is fate,
None of this is fake,
Days seem only hours.


Blessed is she who comes across,
a man such as mine,
A love so divine,
to miss out would be a vast loss.

I'm completely stricken by you. You've got these sky eyes and this velvety hair and this cute snub nose. And you've got sweet looking lips and you're so, so endearingly shy. God ******.

Her fingertips were Icy
and her eyes rather glazed.
A desecrated body                                                                          
with an endearingly brazen face.
Meandering flesh, rich in mortality and fable.
Her skin mapped a journey,
juncture she could no longer able.
Scared arms marked moments,                                                        
of suicidal salvation.
Unwary and wide eyed,
too juvenile to be taken.