caught in pale first light

Eee by gum, ya flawless

There is naught wrong.

Yer thin red skin, shivering

in t’morning, dew kissed

I want ya, me ol’ Tractor,

I want ya somethin’ wicked.

I would dee for ya, I would

pop me cloggs reight quick.

Ye might be made o’ metal

but yer a reight gud sooart

And when I put me thick

hot metal key in yer slot,

an’ turn yer over jus’ reight

ya shiver an’ ya shudder

I put wood i’th’oil

an’ t’me ya do spoil.

match for her,

the very first time

I saw her beauty.

Her delicate fingers

were shredding

daisy heads in a

game she always won.

Like a yellowed

spring snow, her

feet were covered

in discarded petals….

Her wicked innocense

gazed upon me and

her lips formed an

echo of raw wantonness.

She murmured in

purest sin her cheat

“He loves me…

He loves me lots.”

I could never win.

full of Bell Jarred despair

I humm your melodies and

drum fingertips upon my soul…

I watch your slow disintegration

and hope I remember this time

to breathe in deeply, and thus

capture you in tiny, sad particles

I reach for you and grab nothing

but fistfulls of chilled, absent air,

and yet I feel you, tepid and

afraid, next to me when I sleep…

And I know that this is not news,

But I hear you Sylvia sing the Blues.

the words are not as hollow

when whispered into the

chilled, damp night of regret…

“I love you…” the words

tumbled from my lips

as easily as  rain drops

abandon heavenly clouds…

” I mean it…”  and I

think I did, at that

very moment, with

your hand within mine.

“Kiss me now…” your

soft, warm, wanton

lips brushing mine and

for a moment I believed.

“Take those off…” my

words caught between

wanting you and fearing

where we were going…

” Look at me…” as your

lashes tumbled to cheek,

I wanted you, all of you,

your body, your heart…

“I need to go…’ and you

didn’t look suprised, as

I slipped out your door and

I slipped out your life…

“You have reached…” how

many messages did you

leave? I stopped listening,

lacking the courage to hurt.

“Je suis désolé…” I was

not, nor could not be the

man you thought I was…

and forever I will be…

désolé

Her hand so very steady, and

he watched her , wondering as

she poured “How is this possible?”

She twisted the bottle to stop

any chance of clumsy drip,

and then carefully placed the

bottle between their two glasses….

She smiled softly to herself

as she let the red wine breathe,

her fingertip gently traced the

rim of the cup, out of habit…

And out of habit he matched

her movement, and her smile.

How he loved this woman, how

he loved the ritual of sharing.

“How long since we last drank?”

He asked, his voice ripe with

a sadness he did not quite

understand, not here, not now.

She looked up and sighed

the soft exhalation of breath

her only response to his query…

She slowly lifted her glass…

“Too long… yes far too long.”

He answered his own question.

His gaze fell away from her,

from her beauty, and to the glass.

“To you, Henri… On this the

fifth anniversary of your death.

I miss you, my love, I miss

the shared moments we had.”

The tears slowly began their

sad journey, from eyes to

cheek, as she downed her

wine, and drowned her sorrow.

Henri sighed to himself and

slowly stood… he would have

liked to have tasted the wine…

“Goodbye love, until next year…”

And as the last sip of her glass

was taken, Henri, the ghost

shivered and faded from the room..

.leaving a glass of red wine…  untouched.

Red cape, red wantonness.

The leaves dying on brances,

the day dying in the west.

She murmurs in her bed,

red lip bitten in her sleep,

Her dark eyes burn closed…

Red, how I want you red.

Under the crimson, dying sun

I intently watch her

and she cannot see me.

Red, how I want you red…

Red cape, red wantonness.

She talks about her love,

in her sleep, caught now

red-handed, her sensuality

laid upon the rusty earth for

my scarlet lust and hate.

Red, how I want you red.

Under the crimson, dying sun

I intently watch her

and she cannot see me.

But you are safe as
long as you keep upon
the path, and do not
stray into my wild woods…

Oh but we both knew
you could not resist and
on you come, towards
grandma’s house and me….

You swing your basket,
wrapped in the fallen
innocence of your sensual,
crimson (maiden?) hood

“My what big eyes you have”
How else could I drink you in?

“My what big hands you have”
How else could I shred your clothing off?

” My what big teeth you have”
How else could I tear you apart?

What have I done?
What have you made me do?

You look up from crimson sheets,
you eyes mocking and cold and…

I howl ….

I thought of you… I often do.

I suppose I should never
admit this…

My fingers danced over the keyboards…
words became emotion’s raindrops,
sentences became a thoughtful stream,
pages became a mad raging river…

All the while your presence was here…

a single flickering candle caught
in the corner of my eye…
the flame danced, sensual, slow
a serpent’s slithering surety …

I paused, my breath now caught
and watched the flame fully….
and I thought about…
well about things as I wish
they were, and about things I
wish were
not.

I blew the candle out, and
let the clack clack clack
of an angry keyboard tap
become the sad tango
of my soul…

She is velvet to the touch
softness to the tongue
chocolate hope and cream
touched dreams of sweetness…

There is a reason you leave
dessert to end a meal, for
after the sweet richness of
her dark eyes, you are full…

And there you have it, or
rather there you have her
the Girl who reminds me
of food, and leaves me …

hungry.

Like a steak she satisfies
a primordial need, she is
wanton history and she
is civilized thoughts both…

But she is not just the
steak she is warming and
hearty side dishes of
rapier wit and stunning mind.

She is the sort of steak that
I suspect you don’t know
you will order when you sit
down to feast, but glad you do…

You will have to wait for
her to be cooked to the
perfect temperature and
served when she is ready…

She is like a main course
seemingly simple but oh
so complex, she is this…
and yet there is still more…