emostarbucksmuffin

heather spots the moor like errant drops of purple paint wind meanders by and even the green seems to glow as the sun sinks below heathered hills and tattered skies night is sweet here, rife with precious moments like fireflies illuminating your existence then winking out. darkness

I stood on that rocky pier In that white cotton dress you like As you sailed away Again. Home for two days, all you could talk about Was her. How her sails catch the wind just so How she shines in the moonlight How she is large and beautiful and your love. You languished over her Brushing, scrubbing Bow to stern Not noticing my new haircut Or how red my eyes were. It's an affair, really With what? A wooden Frankenstein Figured head and tarry brain Ropy sinews that grow taut at your touch A floating mistress. All I am is a figurehead. And during those countless, sleepless nights Spite invaded my soul And demanded reven

Albino pumpkin Autumnal crown, rests upon Modern magician. One ladybug lands Upon leaf, turns, then flies off. Is the leaf the same? Water lillies float Then dissolve;only paper Oh origami. Paper cranes adorn My desk- bringing my printer Luck and good inkflow. Fedora, black, worn Curves softened by callused hands Hangs there, speaks volumes.

i was pure once but too soon marred. and in my hasty retreat i threw up this hyperbole of a defense and it stuck. so now i am bitter having marred too many fingertips, hands that would have caressed i am still red, yes but it only hides the thorns underneath

champagne-white wedding dress roses in her hair. a shot- a wedding interrupted. priest shakes his head, flips a chapter, begins the ritual of the dead instead. weeks pass and suitors return but the roses in her hair have thorns now. she's all stem, no petal kept alive by moonlit meetings- secret greetings from beyond the grave, lingering she wastes away crossing over bit by bit until she's gone. into the shadows, where only love has substance she left the roses behind.

my favorite tree is birch bound with paper, as am i pale white limbs reach towards the sky while leaves dapple glow on my skin. muses here in their own right slender waists garbed all in white as i sit beneath them to write in the sun. blood and flesh and ink and birch heart beats in time as leaves dapple glow on these words.

I took it off. laces caked in the wet sand that soon was the only barrier between us he took one off too, tied them together eyelets facing us to bear witness          of the miraculous    wonderous                                        (shoeless) meeting of skin and flesh                (and sand). underneath the dock as the tide came in. i may have lost a shoe that day                  but i gained much else besides.

stones stepped lead to paths worn to windows shine yellow at dusk. the horses are pastured, boat moored, ducks free, (they are ducks, after all) and the trees are flowering. stone steps lead to a blue door suggesting fresh pie warm coffee and comfy chairs as hearts shine yellow at dusk.

Let me have shoes. Let them be high heeled, extravagant      strapped and buckled,      ribboned- Let them be red,      so that as break,      heel and toe,      through glass ceilings and misconceptions,      no blood stains show. And let them catch your eye,      so you cannot see my tears.

God, I want to tango. You know I have music in my soul,  keeping me alive, But this body,  is just a bit dysfunctional. I lack the grace  the slender waist      the rose-in-the-mouth kind of taste For tango. I try to move, get in the groove,    but fail. A note of discord, in a sea of harmony- forced off the dance floor  in shame. Why can't my soul    speak to my brain?