Detours
The music poured as the wine flowed, and the people wore smiles in
cabernet lipstick. The conversation was the ocean... rolling in, out,
and crashing on the rocks while the glasses spun and noses dipped to
vacuum then pontificate on the fruit of the fruit. Suddenly there it
was, I retreated to the patio aided by a german beer, recline, cross
feet, and a smoke ring drew my eye up the yellow 1888 victorian
exterior, it was a lonely, leading no where save a tweny foot fall... pink door. My eye's danced all around it, glistened in the rain faded brass knob, in it's white painted thick oak frame, it's soft pink slightly flaking glow, and it's glass case welcome light that would illuminate by candle. An old forgotten useless door is a freight train through my imagination, a doorway to anywhere, a beggar...
So here begins the tale that never caught its mouth.The frost rested thin on the grass and reflected a million tiny gems for the rising sun: It was one of those cold sunny days. Plumes puffed out of her steam engine face as she made hasty tracks for the inevitable, unimaginable moment that threatened the memory for her very own name and warmed her bones like stacking logs onto the fire. This is not a tale of love, nor one of regret but two: of the incendiary journey into the fool’s gold heart that always seems to pan out like a rushing fever.
Love at last glance
Every day I find a new love that has walked away, do not disturbed by my passing, silent crooning. But in my imagination of hearts holds a mansion grand enough to love them all forever... yet to find one that holds a modest shack just for me with but one nail on the wall to hang all my dreams and one shabby blanket for me to revel in them could make me go blind and dumb and throw away all of my wayward longing to rest comfortably within the wild forever of every moment. I need not hold any, save maybe the one I loved at last glance, who walks away every day in different forms of woman, to Places I've prepared for them and ways I'll never go.