Dastardly their chapters in the rafters of the worlds,
capturing the matter that was scattered by their whirls...
she'd crawled atop a mountain when she found him in a crowd,
his mouth chapped and gnawed to its rawness (this called her).
-she more launched an assault than aught else,
and saw her lost Self in his thoughts--
flew to him; bruised him, fierce--
piercing her new student's ears
with a croon and nipping tooth.
he was moved, awed, and appalled.
she fled, appalled and awed...
she sought help with the soothsayers
who said naught
to sooth. "Forsooth," she scoffed,
"has this tall, dark stranger
"brought danger? -Is this air fraught with it?"
she stalked her Great Hall, cross and wistful.
"Oh, ye mad gods..."
he walked into a copse,
at a loss,
and was swallowed soon by foothills.
a city-state away,
she took chill; tugged close her garb.
the barb of one kiss
Hendrix, on a tilted stage.
(hindrance: born deaf.
but feels it in some jilted space
poet on the stilts of Sage;
peering at his peers, peerless,
eyes fearless and frank
steering past appearances for the spirits forbade...
she wades up in the mud, sudden as swords swifter--
blood in her blushing paleness, her buddies nothing to him--
her fingers flutter in American Sign, gestures something he can't dare to define--
oh it's akin to lovely--
her friends a'bubble, they've been sharing some wine--
she begins to dance, tarrying nigh--
fingers brushing his thigh by chance(?), Hendrix has carried her high--
his heart fills--underused cords forge words--
he buries the cry
in her mouth,
necessary but trite...
she is the scariest sight.
in that her image was very...inside.
all his life.
like a borne curse.
all but wi---
rush hour LUNCH hour she's just a TOUCH dour.
wants shower wants SHOWER she hunts down a decent diner due to her recent climb up Food Chain Mankind(-of),
she can't find one,
the damn light won't--!
--she clamps whites runs the red can't fight it
an ache in her head
half-dead a vampire
texting a message
to her harried receptionist LATE
maybe a sandwich at the delicatessen(-ish?)
relish the presence of a hater who questioned her on an earlier date but now let's look at HER dress it's shit
order borders Tasmanian speed "keep the change" (she needs one)
directionless she wrestles purse-strap, eyeing the curved back of the guy making her turk'-slathered-with-whatever-it-better-be-yummy-or-she'll-act like-a-heifer
and his eyes
look like they recognize,
look like a second prize when there's no first,
cook like a Mesmer ply (did her soul thirst?)...
shook shaken "Shake?" and he slides
her drink order
as they wait for her fries
in the belly of a million Lives,
aching to dive
in the lake that has taken its time
cooler than snow, hotter than tropical climes.
an Alway, and a bide...
a precious text kept next
to, even as they slept
on the chess move
on their dots to
connect for Ever, an
hourglass to their rescue