Sarah not Terror

She is a neon blur moving over the concrete.
Her legs push on and on, while her face takes in the wind.
There is no measure of her speed nor distance, as there is no competition in everywhere.
She is all glitter and giggle.
Dimpled with smile.

Quiet

The mind chatters itself into a delerium
He loves chaos
Security blanket me with your love your arms your legs your passion and all that you do, my love
My balance my binding my soft touch my gentleman
He is the calm pocket in which I place my shaking hands
Love knows better
The One is Trust

Post Void

They really dig the void, the abyss they call it, and lament its coldness with dark sarcasm.
They dig it, it seems all their mouths-shovels, to go on and on with their moving over dirt.
We have long left the ground breaking event.
But still... no bottom, no shattering surface below, no prime course except downward.
Some reach across, stretching an arm, a vocal chord to get to the farthest side of the open space.
Some just teeter at the edge, peering in, squinting eyes and biting a lip.
And then that brave one, that fearless and brazen beauty of a beast, the one who shakes it all off and takes a dive.

Light Afire

To the sunnaway, run.
He breathes a vision into souls, he lights a long burning wood match and I suck the sulfuric odor into my tasting mouth.
Flaring nostrils for the faded pungeancy, widening eyes to the toss of flame into the beautiful chilly night campfire.
I gathered and placed the cracky sticks and dry leaves.
He nods a genteel smile and his eyes seem to wink.
We turn to face the warmth, listening to the after dark world of home crickets, restless dogs, sirens, and traffic.
Moments pass. A log crackles and dips its black-orange ember glow into the fire and ash.

Metal Lizard

on the days of her unbecoming she snatches the metal lizard from the wall and sings to him an opera-esque ballad of woe and deflation.
her voice lands haunting melodious melancholia about the jagged edges of a brief and dissatisfied existence, to which a perpetually bent brass gecko should surely relate on the deepest most intimate surface level of a playing field.
his snaggy not suction claws being the most loud indicator of crafted futility, his dull ungleaming demeanor-a mirror opposite a soul of hammered and hammered and cut up cut up brass.

they fall silent.

they fall. silent.

they fall.