Dandy Stranger

I would ask you questions, if I could watch your mouth for answers
Is perfection so wondrous, if it cannot speak?
It's said, there are many ways to communicate without the aid of sound.

I rest easy then, knowing you were made stoic and emerald-eyed.
Let me claim your precious hand always, guide me between the lines.

This night is my hazy summer,
hot, languid and perfect.
Our words are like scrumped cider,
giddy, fresh and clouded with giggles.
As nature intended.

Shuffle my love & enter, there is only you and I.
(Speak up for I am deaf)
Our world is as underwater, peaceful but devoid.
(The thing that is my soul is slipping)
Rest your head & be not afraid.
(My gentle piano)
Feel as I do, you will hear at last
(Louder I say! More so..)
Again I say - could you repeat that?
(So I seem to them without my right mind?)
Please don't shout! I read lips
(So I retreat and hold you to me)
My gentle maestro..only you can know.
(How can I explain to them?)
You let your music speak.

1. Feed us at the same time daily

2. Give us a share of all that you eat, including bogies.

3. Feed us whatever delights we demand, upset tummy or not. We of course expect you to clean up the resulting "issues "

4. Allow us to drink from the sink and shower, regardless of the mess it creates (It is hardly our fault that you cannot lick yourself as we do)

5. Spend at least 6 hours a day entertaining us.

6. Do not wake us from our sleep to entertain you, the cheek of it!

7. Do not whine if we are being contrary. This is our fuzzy prerogative.

8. Under no circumstances bathe or groom us. We don't enjoy it and frankly we prefer to stink.

9. If in the process of following rule eight you discover that we have fleas ticks or sores, it is then your responsibility to dispense correct treatment immediately.

10. One toilet roll per week must be purchased for the express purpose of wanton destruction.

11. Let us climb on your lap when we wish, not when you do. Fuzzies are family members, not pets.

12. Love us as we love you, with blind unconditional devotion.

13. All these demands must be met before your own, or we will not give you a moments peace.


Signed

Devin (Shih Tzu) & Smokey (Mixed-breed Feline)

It seems so simple to me, as when I breathe.
Second nature’s words,

Like a piano phrase, Layered, embellished.
Thoughts on a theme.

This medium, so stern in its modernity.
Is softened yet by you and I.

So deafened am I, amidst the sea.
A white noise of nothingness.

This crystalline echo,
Mine only Hopeful Island

You and I are small-time elegant crooks.
Our smiles, the perfect crime.
We were never lovelier.
In that moment, we hoodwinked them all.

I'll start the car now?
Shake the clip..
I think we should go home…

For E.B

She let the wind touch her; kiss her with a slight upward turn of her jaw. The darkness had fallen long ago and dusk was waiting in the wings to lift her, in the final controlled limp fall – held until the cheers of silence fade away.

She was aware of no one but the whisper on her shoulder, the voice that was life’s own sweetness - The truth. Her every muscle aware of it’s pained place in this music less duet. Her partner pushed her to believe, to move.

Was than that she ran, leaping with the stars. Her freedom a trade, fading as her fingers touched them. Her elegant line, a line of hope, breathing as she ran – fast and stricken. The world bending and changing, how fate would shape it.

The shadows came out to hold her. The whisper bent to kiss her, dusk gave way to brilliance. In it’s hold, they were lifted - like moths to a flame. All at once the two became the flame. Consumed now, so that they may consume.

Complete.

Desert

This thing that I tap away at is not a piece of writing, rather a verbal vomit. I hate it when there’s nothing, so I write about the nothingness. When I bury myself in a well-written book, then and only then, do I feel the need to write. My muse stops being my own, and my narratives begin to reflect that which I read.

There is hope of course, that I will become infamous for writing books and books about the death of my muse. That I shall appear on cable TV recounting the bloody crime scene, “Some names have been changed.” Maybe I pushed her off the train that day. That is for me to know and for you to find out.

Mine is a pattern – Buzz, write, stop, dump. Got that, rinse and repeat as desired. My muse comes knocking, being supportive and sweet. We embark on an exciting trip together and words pour out of us… then we come up against dry land, all ashore who’s going ashore. There we are, stranded on a desert island. She skips off to collect shells, in which she can hear the sea but I cannot. That magic is lost on me because I’m to busy trying to flag down a damn boat.

It is a once in a lifetime thing. So akin to the moment; you breathe after a mint. There's a truth that is felt - purity.
For that one moment, you cannot deny you are alive.

With you, I am bathed and cleansed. In this cocktail of imperfections,
a combination of that which we both are - our breath.


I choose to drown, let me go.

He stood in the darkness, looking into the half opened doorway. She slept there. The night breeze from the broken windowpane shifted his long untamed curls onto his face, his serene death mask. Broken glass seemed to crunch under his feet as he moved to enter the room where his prize lay.

She looked like a dead thing lying there, only the slight flutter of her eyelids and the tell tale rise and fall of her ribs, betrayed her life. The moonshine cast a glittered wash over the bed linen. Her blonde hair a matted wreck, stuck to the hollow, sad little cheek streaked as it was, with a Kohl-tinged trail of tears. He knelt on his haunches; let the sweetness of her breath kiss his senses. Longing for contact was just too much and he closed his gaze of her, just for a moment.

”Sleep, “ He whispered “sleep where I cannot. Breathe for us both, give this thing life” In his distress he fell back; his back finding the wall, yet there was no sound that might wake her. She did naught but moan through the lips that haunted him. Plump, red and close enough to cause him agony. Wringing his hands through his hair, he sat crumpled
” I am here, “ It was his mind that spoke now, reaching into her dreams “always here, where else can this ghoul be? I am but a place memory now. Your marker my love” His fingers reached her hair and he breathed an empty breath, with the last of what he was he was able to feel that simple golden strand. Soon though, it was gone to him again.

Weakness was washing over him, the world bending, fading. “Remember me and live…remember…”

Naught but blue….