A redwrapped
foil held
biteful chocolate
heart

stashed in a yellow envelope
with handwriting that could be yours
on the outside.

For me.

It held more than --

It held clean kitchen counters
with crumbs swept daintily under appliances.
Gritty granules of yesterday hastily moved
to make more time.
Of clean floors,
wooden,
- for the bare feet -
and shoes, helterskelter -
        I did always intend to leave them tidy, but shoes have lives of their own
                 it seems.
- Never leave slippers in a cupboard,
you don't know what they might do
unattended --
I said.

Of wet sleeves
and damp tea towels
skinned over cupboard doors
with that scrubbed-clean
thoroughly-made-pink-from-the-evening scent.

washwet clothes dripping

but crisp new towels hanging hot
winter-fresh bedding

clothes always tangled on the floor
- for who has time to sort out socks when the body missing for months has finally come and bags are down toes out and hot water soap and hands together wet hair clean ready for cool shifting pillows and arms of dry towels -
before sun cuts skin and breakfast shouts in the morning.

Daydreams of you haunt me at night, the frightening sight of me holding you tight.
Breathing heavy, sweating, looking for a lip to bite.
It might be nightmarish to stare into your cold eyes, but cold stares don't lie,
they might **** and I might die, but for sure I won't cry.
These daydreams scream obscene obscenities torturing my memories,
sending me to limbos with no souls, and no way out.
I shout into silence and silence then pouts. I fear this dreaded destination,
this nation of introspective meditation. Just face it, there's no face to save it,
no place for shelter, this helterskelter is inescapable. Incapable but breakable,
for sake's sake the will is shakable. These daydreams I swear, scare themselves,
like label less books upon empty shelves. Let the faded pages delve deep into the depth of my id and ego,
let us see how far the rabbit hole goes, maybe to wonder the underland who truly knows?
Daydreams of you haunt me at night, untucked and cold I sleep in fright.
Maybe this notion of holding you tight, will send into motion
heavy breathing, sweating, and a lip to bite.
Now hurry off to bed, for this lullaby is dead, goodnight to thoughts and the whispers in your head.

Little ant, who art thou
that you run helterskelter
all day long, day after day,
forty-five feet for one small
piece of leaf,
three miles if I were to walk it.

Why?
Is it to assure the community
that you belong?
Is it to know you had a
part in building the pyramid of stones
you call home
that took generations of your
forebears to construct?
Or are you just a part of a great machine,
a mindless functionary
on an assembly line?

As I wonder who you are
I wonder who am I.