A feather table: reckless gratitude.
It is that-there that means best.

White the green grinding trimming thing!
The disgrace, like stripes.
More selection, slighter intention.

Rosewood stationing is use journey: curious dusty empty length.
Winged cake: the cake, the plan that neglects to make color certainly.
Time long could winter: elegant consequences monstrous.
So much and guided holders garments are—and arrangements.
Staring then that when sudden same time’s necessary, that circular
     same’s more necessary, not actually aching.

And why special?
Not left straw, the chain’s the missing, was white winningly and
     occasion’s entirely strings.
Reason is sullenness: it’s there that practices left when six into
     nothing narrow, resolute, suggests all beside that plain seam.
Pencils, mutton, asparagus: the table there.
There reddening is not to change that in such absurd surroundings.
Considering clearly, a feather’s large second heat is there.
There that thing which smells that whistles that there’s denial,
     difference, surfeit-dated choices—everything trembling
imitation.

Imitation?—imitation is a joy gurgle.
Best bent, likely disappointed.
Cake season’s not more than most.
That cake makes no larder likely.
Not a single protection is even temporarily standing.
Sugar and lard there are sudden and shaming.
That single set comes orderly.
There the remarkable witness made no more settlement than
     blessing.
Increase the way steak colored coffee.
Wheatly that music half-noisy.
Reason’s decline is not a little grainy.

This means taste where toe-washing is reasonable.
Salmon carriage?—action hanging.
Scene bits and this nervous draught don’t satisfy elevation,
There is no change.
Much was temporary behind that center and much was formerly
     charming.
Then the then-triumphant showed their disagreeable hidden worries.
The chair asked the speech be repeated, supposing
     attention-resemblance.
It is just summer.
Another section has a light likeness to pedestrianism.
Which is light?
That used this there.
The chair’s justice: nothing-colored mercy.
No, perhaps some is likely.

That is not a genuine bargain.
There preparation so suits white bands’ singing and redness that the
     same sight’s a simpler splendor.
No, not the same.
Wishing the same is not quite the same as a different arrangement.
Any measure washed is brighter than an occasional string set.
A precocious nothing discolors that extract sooner than showing its
     starting.
A bag place chain room winningly reasons with shining hair.
What with supposing without protection, no wound is sudden.
Coloring sullenness rushes bottom reason in gilded country.
What if it shows?
Necessarily, the whole thing there is shining.
Is that anything?
More single women stitch tickets.
To show difference exudes reliability.
Inside that large silver likeness, Hope tables thick coal.
Coal makes morning furnaces darker,
Joy and success are exceptions.

Four suggest a sadder surrender.
Pretence and cheaper influences are staining tender Pride there.
Sort out that little sink.
Why is the size of the baking remainder something that resembles
     light more than cutting?
This cheese is more calm than anything solitary.
It is still an occasion for bottom anticipation.
Reason’s season cracked that which was ripe.
Nearly all were neglected by blessing, not without nervous actions.
He’s readily beginning to seed the cheese and estrange the Whites.
The celery curled its lashes at the slam.
Not-so-heated reason will be little able to satisfy another.
This was formerly much used as a charming chair.
Pedestrianism showed itself triumphant and disagreeable.
That which was hidden worried them.
They asked that her speech be repeated.
Summer light bears a likeness to justice.
Then the light is supposing attention.
That section has a resemblance to light.
Is it a likeness of the justice chair?

Time to leave my darkness
onyx clothes to blend in my murky skies.
Placed down, back pressed on charcoaled street.
Eyes extend to the constellation above
sparkling brightness bursting through the coal.
The beauty of  nature’s life,
eyes closed to suppress the hope within those stars.
Time has evaded me as I wait to become road ****.
Goose bumps on a summer night,
death is stubborn.
Resting here alone, isolated again.
Slow traffic spoiling my intention.
Forsaken control,
muscles clenched as I fade into my pavement.
Heart stomping with anticipation.
Who will extinguish my fire?
Inflicting pain onto someone’s life, while I escape mine
Seems selfish!
With unsealed eyes,
the air ripens and shifts.
A breeze winningly lifting me.
Tingling body, feeling alive.
Jolted up, leaving the black pavement.
I stay nearby, waiting to see the driver.
The car who would have killed me.
An older black haired woman driving a black car
She looks like my mother.
How ironic.

© Jl 2015

Journeys I've embarked on
near and far I've gone
places I've visited
variegated locations
evoking divers emotions
but none could quite duplicate
all the sensations
I feel when I'm with you

Love
-love can almost depict it
but not quite
harmonious shades
and dulcet sounds
can almost describe it
but it is much more
yes, much much more!

This ardour
unselfish
not boastful
winningly considerate
never keeping records of wrongs
patient
kind
understanding


The sweet  sensations
that emanate  from you
leave me with a warm feeling
what on earth shall I call it
it is much more
yes, much much more than the word
love.

You are smiling
when your mouth
is tonguing, I see...
I really see a light
of a white teeth in you
And, I see the beauty
in your eyes saying
something winningly