Cream

Milk rolls over leather.

No, moon over tanned skin.

Is it?

Stars in my eyes;

This girl’s celestial.

Are the heavens moving, 

Or me?

A rotation of limb or light,

a porcelain persuasion,

Enticing,

A flickering of might,

Tickle of possibly.

This girl’s bewildering;

I’m bewildered.

And I will be

Again, and again,

Until she turns to cream.

 

The Girl By The window

The girl by the window,

Ephemeral flare,

She sits all alone

As the wind stirs her hair,

Just gazing at cobwebs 

Which drift in the light,

Smiling to no one,

Her lips pinched quite tight.

The world moves about her,

But she doesn’t drift.

The space between us,

It cuts like a rift.

And though I don’t know her,

Not even her name,

I know she’s the one

And she knows the same.

Carrot (Micro Fiction)


Head in the ground, she waits. There’s a hint of rain in the titanium sky, a taste of the coming deluge. Yet she remains shy, unrevealed from those who’d tease her from the earth. 

One day Carrot will emerge. When she does, she’ll gleam in auburn majesty. They won’t tease her then. Those idiots and fools will probably be bald. 

Unearthly Charms

There are worlds beyond the eye

I know, as I’ve watched them fly

Through the deepest darkest dream

In dimensions too extreme


There are mountains on the moon

Made to visit just not soon

Where the Martians hide and wait

End of us, anticipate


There are forces from the grave

I have seen, but would not rave

As the darkness swallows light

A good heart would surely fright


But in all I’ve seen and more

Only one did I adore

T’was the girl upon my arm

Stole my heart, unearthly charm


Will I venture out again

Maybe yes, but all’s the same

For I’ll never find a view

That is half as good as you

Pruned

Her name was Rose
Like the flower,
A wild and rambling girl.
Softest pink, her pale skin,
Hair of tangled nature,
She bloomed for us all;
How she bloomed.
But winter came
With nipping chill;
Our Rose did fade away,
Retreated behind prickly demeanour
Within a bricked vase.
A gardener has her now:
Pruned.

50 Word Stories: The Treat

“Treat or treat,” she purred.

She was all angles and curves, black robes rippling in the moonlight like a dark angel and loving it. A most beguiling, college witch.

“Don’t you mean, trick or treat?” I replied.

“Not for you,” said she, and kissed me on the lips. “Not tonight.”