Mercifully temperate summer days glide into autumn. The footfalls of my vintage recently-purchased Doc Martens sandals advance on air. The pedals of my quaint just-restored Bianchi Parco churn in silence.
Oh my god, (my lover?) You swaddle me in bounty. Why do I rebel? My heart – which you fashioned – burns.
A lacerated heart, scar-encrusted, still bleeding, (oh, where does the blood go?) is still a heart, still a heart, still a heart,
To you, it is a game; To me, life and death; To be alive, caught in your gaze, bandied about by your banter: a predicament worth dying for.
I go on tumblr for pornography: the beautiful kind, the breathtaking kind, the crumpling kind. Over the months I had my smattering of likes: the ones I gave my heart to. One tumblr led to another which led to another, Till that one night I stumbled on that heavenly site: Each post stunning, each post stole my heart, and it was endless. I am cured.
And thus the Lord created Adam and furnished unto him Eden And Adam plucked the fruit too early And, lo, Adam was dismayed and he called unto the Lord “Lord, why hath thou forsaken me? “I have tasted of your fruit and have found it hard and bitter.” The Lord saw before Him the morning of His Glory — Perfection in every blade of grass, every seed, and every hair on Adam’s head. And the Light of God’s Grin shown upon Adam “Adam, it is your own fashioning. “And I assure you: there is not a bad thing in Eden, not even your fashioning.”
I sought and sought until it all became Hocus Pocus; then I realized it always was.
A mountain of blue-gray looms over the dark horizon bouyed by a soft expanse of pink and the delicate, ruddy strip of peaceful, glowering foothillsfalling away to twilight
My poppy wildflowers recklessly bloom An enthralling spread rushes past the ego and quickly covers all patches of hate and sin is a needless worry of the past.
Rollicking lilting: an unseen young woman’s chortle haunts my ears. Angelic chuckling softens my heart. Occasionally, in a swooning despair, I lean out the window to blindly seek her face, the fount, only to be splashed with a fresh outpouring of cherubic mirth. Assured, languid, bright, content — all I’ve wanted to experience in a woman. Intermittent eternal trumpet of joy — tittering with gusto — driving me up to heaven.