prose

I don't understand. I don't understand. Do you? Nancy?
Jazz peeps on my pillow. [Reading between the lines].
Do you know what I love? I love the time before you actually admit your feelings to each other. Or you are not sure if the other likes you.

Note: Do not judge a book by it's cover. I was reminded of that in a clear distinct fashion just this moment.
I must remind myself of all the traditional idiomatic phrases ever read. Mother's Wisdom, I shall call it.
Endless bitter banter.

Banterious. Vicariously slashing peas open.
Tendrils of sound curl around my neck.

is no one

        is     no     one

    is     no     one

                        is no one

    no one.

            noone.

    nobody

                here

I say I love you to a strand of hair.
What madness have I come to?
My pen no longer writes.
It dies just as I do.
A slow inkless death.

What inclination do I have for my
Watery grave?
Or smoke filled.
Why do I partake of this intake
The noxious propensity.

Where have all the angels in my life gone?
All who approach me,
Are undercurrents of motive -
Submotives to be exact.

Artist collective
That aspires to...?
Change the course of
A pipeline.

How long will these words last?
Have I cheated myself again?
Am I insane?
Am I horrid and annoying?

If you remember clearly, it was the first day since I last saw you. There was a chilly breeze but the sun was shining. We met outside by the park entrance, closest to your house. I remember the smell of dense earth and moss everywhere. Your clothes smelled of a fire burnt nearby. I knew you were on the beach last night - with the others.

I wanted your smell on me. I wanted your taste in my mouth. I had waited so long for today. It was here now. The grass was an acid color, the sky electric. A buzz. Everyone knew. I could almost taste the zing of your fingers on mine.