i had a russian girlfriend...
to be honest?
  it would have been easier to get away
with what i just did with my neighbours sleeping...
sharpening 3 kitchen knives:
metal under water then...
    i sharpened them like a blacksmith
might take to crafting 3 horse-shoes,
cooled under the water, then checked
if sharp-enough over a fern shaft,
or a flower's pettle of made
incission...
              this stone akin to 5pm stubble...
or what's called vogue shadow...
      3 knives nearing the  equivalent to 1 scythe...
there... my friday night...
sharpening 3 knives in the dark,
a friday... what becomes "atypical" in going out...
    three knives sharpened...
                placed under water to erase
the friction burns imposed on the metal
by the stone scratched into / against...
              friday: and the 3 sharpened knives.

The good ship you,
has flown it’s blue peter ,
hoisted it’s sail ,
Climbed its mast ,
left me as a thing of you’re past .
Last spring you left you’re safe harbour,
when the flowers were all budding ,
and the crocuses had gone  .
You left a note that did not  leave a smile ,
just a pale reflection of what we had not .

Did I not await alone at home for a sign ?
Did I leave imaginary footprints in you’re mind ?
Was I just to unkind ?
And life has stood still it’s outlandish affair ,
I walked in sleet just to remember .
did I really think you didn’t care ?
Now the evenings pass by without a thought ,
Won’t you help me remember?

If the snow returns next winter and the crocuses are dead ,
If I took a leaf from its flower to remember ,
then I would know in you’re heart at least I’m not dead .
But if the snow settles ,
and there isn’t a call ,
then a yellow crocus pettle must perish and fall .

Time passes and takes all in its longevity
Every creature, every mountain kneels down in humility

All earthly matters end in rumble, the dust can finally settle
The grandest will wither as the gentlest flower's pettle

It knows no sorrow, no pain, nor regret
Cradling the young and old from this realm to the next

T'is life, t'is law, none shall know pardon
From the darkest of forests to the sweetest of gardens

Let it resonate through the earth for anyone can tell
The chime and the rhythm of sweet requiem bells.

Tough to let go of the lessons I learned in the ghetto, my grandma taught me city water is tainted, filled with the heavy metals
Don't let them see you wilted, go out and get a filter
They try to slow your education
Used to watch her thumb through the pages, used to swear by the paper
TVs lie she said, she didn't care for how they talk
The **** they pettle
Pretty foreign dialect from where she came from
She used to say baby, the sweetest juice
Get squeezed from the fruits of your labor
Hate to hear me talk about a rap career
Asked me how one dreams of being caught under a label?
Independence is a strength
Ain't **** to fear
Besides, in her day real poetry was soft on her ears
She'll still go to church on Sundays
Barely a believer
Comes home and will drink you under the table
She might stumble to bed, but she still hold her head high and graceful
I often woke to piano when the bills weren't paid
We'd read sheet music-by the candle light
No excuse for ****** grades
Life is about hope
She won't stand to see that vandalized
She told me she really hate rap
What if it help me feed my kids that she can get down with that

The love I have for the snow white rose no man alive truly knows
For her roots grow only in my bones
A soulmate lost in time forever froze
A love so strong frost  dare not oppose
For the further apart we may be
The more I feel her inside of me
Cream pink pettle cheeks against my rough
Her perfection against my thorn
My heart on sleeve
For her to adore
I wait for her knock at my door
Loves everlasting gaze of  the last time I woke to your face
Now I wake up in a lonely space with a pillow holding my embrace
I long for the beautiful white rose as my heart she truly owns
Until my body turns to bones  
Her beauty untold and innocent soul unsold
The one true girl the world truly owes
As she's been to hell but no one knows
There's much to hide through baby blue eyes
I want you to know I'll save your life
You'll never have to struggle and strife
I'll always be apart of your life beautiful snow white rose who no one knows

Dear sweetness,

You'll always be my special brew,

Rest on your saucer and read my thoughts
Understand that you aren't like ordinary pots
You mean so much to me. my lovely flower
And I miss you regularly with every passing hour.
Remember that old teacup you cherished so much?
I could tell how much you enjoyed my soft hands and gentle touch.
As the months go by, I still treasure the first time we siped together,
My breath went away, and I felt light as a feather.
My fears and anxieties dripped away,
Unlike spending time with the tea-bag earl grey.
I'm thinking of you, my cupcake, my muffin, my scone,
Just know I'm a shout away, and you're never alone.
Even when you put the pettle to the metal with your kettle
You'll always be special to me; remember this while you let your temperature settle.
Bagged or Loose, Mug or Cup, Iced or warm.
You'll always find the saving grace in my storm.

My love for you has been steeping for years,
I'll love you forever sugar, cheers!

~ Raymond

please, i beg of you,
to know the place
of which god has no
knowledge,
or leisure of entry...
     and keep me in that
suggestion...
otherwise?
  i have my closest
fasthom to "market"
   a pettle...
i: closer to birch
as
identifying tree:
than an oak...
       am i closer to the
     castle-of-thought,
with the crude units
of genitals?!
confined of the male
genitals?
      little girl and little boy,
baba yaga
and turnip for
a hansel,
   and a beetroot for
a gretyl...
                 love: so sweet...
love... in the affairs of
furore:
otherwise:
   what would only become
the kaleigh dance...
     and us...
    and no: us...

           a hybrid of *******,
as would become understood...
standing aloft in grieving
a stature of Edinburgh...
         your...

           shadow of being...
my supposed "child":
and your... belittling child
of a genital take
on impetus...
        
    odd... athe africans
can call it a clear sahara...
        with a male and female fame of
"purse"...
     Żubrówka...
         no... ***** no...
i kissed the prince the snail
and you expecting him
to be frog turn: a lottery baron...
                 ****... me!

you call them something or
other... the heil glum's?!
             something in question
of being: "told apart""?!
          
romance what what with what?
post-scriptum colonialism...
    oh... ****...
forgot the proper impetus...
      ****** better take to
the revision of cotton...
      and because without the basis
of colonel tavington...
       you gonna provide
the chinese *****-labour
of your usurp
              weather journal?!
   ******* gonna become all
fickle and emotional
to resurrect aztecs or something?

mind you...
considering the ushering of:
freedom...
        see..
the red coats?
terrible...
    terrible... but you see the problem
of the modern,
    spectacle military?
    lost coherence of: cadence!

   north korea and russia will do...
england?!
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
   you ******* training seals,
or just agitasting egoism?!
  the call of the red jacket...
    odd the veering on
the purple sheer...
       her...
  
   majesty's... "majesty's":
soldiers...
                do english soldiers of the royal
core, even contemlate to
the basis of their existential
core... a...
an equivalent of a russian...
          infantry cadence?!

the english soldiers,
              demanding a queen
rather than enemy, or general...
             what a broken harth to
mind a square cubic of wreath...
without allowed metaphor...
        
let's be honest...
with or without the queen...
the current british infantry
cadence?!
            kinda... kinda makes
north korea look like...
                  a perfect shoelace;
nor is that perfect...
attempting
to cobble-fit
a variant of the loss of youth
in encompassing
      prior York, the Crown...

after a while i am almost
attempting to be sedated by
     an attempt into a play of being
torn, naive...
            **** gets boring,
and octous begins to
suffocate,
      imitating, royal,
           **** amour of the desired
******...
         oh how there is enough
little people, among the people
deemed: "big"
      in posession of a crown...
the english army is:
   without... goose...
  or what is reserved for
   the most appropriate height of making
a mark of... said,
or unsaid footing...
  how sudden the death...
and a...
                gambling
fissure of a: "loss" bound
                          to a tomorrow?
soviet says...
soviet gains...
        and the little gain
in between...
pray to god to never feel
obliged to pray or encompass
monogomy...

                          2nd. tier...
whatever you might call it?
words, are, cheap.