I slowly move my body against the leather sofa. My skin has stuck to the twattish material in the night, and my body aches from last nights activities.

I raise my head and look over the back of the sofa to see Dean sleepily pad through the kitchen and open the fridge.  He wears pyjama bottoms with cute robots on and I'm slightly surprised he could get them in his massive size.

He's tall at about 6,3 and he's built like a boxer. He could easily scare most people away with a growl. Not me. He's my big teddy bear.

I wait until he has pulled his breakfast materials from inside the fridge until I speak.

"Freeze motherfucker!" I shout out in a false manly voice.

He shrieks, and messily juggles the cartons before dropping them onto the tiled floor. A mess of broken eggs and spilt milk, form a spreading puddle by his feet.

I want to laugh. I really, really want to laugh. But his death glare keeps my giggle in my throat.  

I just look at him. Trying my best not to laugh. We stare at one another in silence, like some western shoot off.

The atmosphere changes, and I can feel the static in the air. I don't want him to be mad at me. He's never mad at me long.

"I gave old man Bisto a hand job last night." I whisper. The corner of his mouth quirks up in a near attempt to smile.

"I want those pyjamas."

"Well you can't fucking have them Sherri. How did you get in here?"

He's my friend again now. I'm off the hook.

I point over to his roommates bedroom door in answer to his question. "Kevin let me in."

"No he fucking didn't. You're lying."

I give him my best cheeky grin, and he smiles back before throwing a towel onto the uncooked omelet by his feet.

"Are you really breaking into my flat Sherri? When I'm innocently sleeping in my bed. Bitch, just ring my phone. I will let you in."

He walks over to the cupboard above the kettle to get coffee and sugar out. I inwardly shrink ready for his outburst.

I know there's no coffee in there. When I got here last night there was only that really crappy Arabian coffee. I threw it in the bin. I knew he'd take me for coffee if there isn't any here. Maybe breakfast now too.

"For fucks sake Kevin. Use all the Bastard coffee again and don't fucking replace it."

There it is.

I watch as he storms around the room and changes into jeans and a black shirt with a warning sign printed on the chest.

"Get him back."  I say. "Fuck his grandma."

It seems to lighten his caffeine craving mood just a little.

"And how the fuck will that get him back Sherri?  By fucking his grandma?"

"At the beginning of the porn, when you enter the room in your handyman clothes, have grandma look into the camera and in a seductive voice say... Kevin forgot to buy coffee."

He laughs. Really laughs. "You're fucking sick Sherri. Come on then. Let's go get coffee."

I grin before jumping up and following him to the door. I'm so glad he hasnt needed to look in the bin.

"Breakfast too?" I cheekily ask, as I jump up onto his back and wrap my arms and legs around his big body.

He'll give me a piggy back to the elevator.

"Yes lovely slut. I'll take you for breakfast. Since mines all over the fucking floor."

"Let's go to Charlies on Downton. It's new."

"Ok."

"And I'll get us free donuts from Ana on the way back."

"Ok."

"And then we'll make the porn with Kevins grandma."

"Ok- No! No Sherri. I'm not making a porn with Kevins grandma. Or mother, or aunt. You can piss off you sex hungry bitch."

"Ok."

And that's how our morning went.

Charlies food was to die for.

I've been backing 

Away

From the edge of 

Your pier...

It's a new mating 

Dance

With your love,

And my fear...

...And the Death 

From above 

Is the Cherry 

You crave...

Always under the 

Gun,

In this Home 

Of the Brave!...

You make me an 

Offer...

...Stooped...

I kissed your ring...

...Exhausting the 

Leaves

From the scorched

Trees that swing...

Switch Angel's

Effigy...

...Been twice

Denied...

But that's how

The ball of wax

Upholds her

Time...

I've been backing

Away

From the edge of

Your pier...

It's a new mating

Dance

With your love,

And my fear...

...And the Death

From above

Is the Cherry

You crave...

Always under the

Gun,

In this Home

Of the Brave!...

...Doesn't mean,

Babe,

That I gave up the

Ghost...

...You've lost sight,

And stumbled 

Below my impulse...

And now in the dark,

Only guided by

Touch...

...Where have you

Flown to?...

...I've crawled 

Through the brush...

I've been backing

Away

From the edge of

Your pier...

It's a new mating

Dance

With your love,

And my fear...

...And the Death

From above

Is the Cherry

You crave...

Always under the

Gun,

In this Home

Of the Brave!...

©

2017

Bunny Villaire 

As I sit

Underneath a sky

Crisscrossed by twinkling lights,

I thirst

For your scent.

In that warm glow

Left by the burning moon

I bleed with passion.

Alone.

I howl my miseries to the wind

Till a shiver

Crawls up their spines,

And they come

In hordes

To hunt the wolf,

Not knowing

That it is I,

Who hunts them.

They knock and crash against trees

They snap twigs

Ungainly mortals

Who do not know the art

Of the predator.

Silently,

I slink through the shadows

The moon aiding me,

By flitting behind the clouds,

Deepening the darkness,

Enhancing their fear.

A sister howls,

Echoing my raging soul

And they stop,

Frozen in time.

I step out of the shadows.

No more hiding now.

We look each other

In the eye.

A flash of white is all they see

before my coat

Is stained red

With the weight of their sins

Now washed away

By the cooling rain.

Solace.

I know I'll have to pay

For this

With my life.

It was worth it, love.

All that burning rage gone,

I am filled with emptiness,

And I will mourn

And mourn again

Singing eerie lullabies

To the sleeping moon.

In distraction, when frustration has me grumbling, the pretty butterfly flutters gently by on the breeze. My stuttering try at breath begins to ease for the beauty the eye sees in the message it brings on its colorful wings. My heart sings to tease my soul to peace with the melody that springs into the mind with the spirit's strings that start muttering a beat for the rhythm surrounding the heat of summer's end. The quiet journey of the rainbow's awkward, yet gorgeous pet commences to butter the bread of art's skill, perching on my window's sill to pause and contemplate the garden's still harmony. It reclines to rest and capture the sunset, posing for my quill, so tranquil that I try my best to promote the dozing of my little guest. Then I may watch my fill - drink in the sight - of the shimmering delight that sparks a symphony in vision through my imagination's path, until, alas, I have to sneeze. Off it goes, startled by the noises of my nose, to flit around a nearby rose, the perfect shade - so close in hue that it glimmers in the dew with the movement given by the shadow cast over it in flight, waving goodnight, sparkling in the dimming light as the sun sets to trimming the bright ends of its rays. Slowly, while it lingers, shining flirting fingers of its might onto the bobbing bug, the clouds tug the reluctant orb over the horizon, high on ozone. Weepy in farewell, they drizzle sleepy tears onto the ground where these sizzle gas into the atmosphere, adding prisms for the sphere to paint a mural as a backdrop for the floating incarnation of the bumbling caterpillar to dance in grace, before exiting the space. With a smile on my face, I say a silent goodbye to my distracting little friend. Thank you for the timely end to my impatient mumbling.

I sit in wonder of the splendid trees,

I listen to the whispering breeze.

I realize that poetry cannot explain,

The true feelings I have for the soft drizzling rain.

I look through the fog with awe inspired tenderness,

and think of the wonderful, terrible, rareness.

Art can only etch a pale clone,

of the singularly unique world shown.

Our blue marble is a gem to behold,

Our exceptional world is more precious then gold,

It's a world of knowledge; an amazing tome.

I am awed to be able, to call this place home.

cafe 80s

wait for me

don't look at anything

you might see

afraid of the future

what does it hold

tempting to peek

answers I seek

what do I find

an old car to shine

the beaten byway

aspirations,

winding away.

but where's the fairway

I've gone astray

precise reactions

avert distractions

oh there it is

my timeline street

written

rewind

review

repeat

start again

time will bend

a crack in the memory

a chance to amend

time will erase

the DMC-12s pace

forethought taken

a mysteries a mak'n

Ah! Let's give our kudos

to "great scott"

now,

can you

discover the plot

or have you forgot,

that it only takes 1.21 gigawatts

~Jessi (Poem)

Here I stand

at my window again.

Looking out I feel a change....

must be the weather.

The days aren't in

growing season right now,

so all the birds are gone.

Even me, I'm not growing~

but I do feel a change....

must be this homecoming.

We traveled back at night;

no bag, no flight.

The long drive did me good,

since I had a lot on my mind.

The bright headlights brought to blaze

what I was running from.

Each car shed a regret, one at a time;

some a muted hum,

while others I paid more mind

(purr, zoom, thunder, whisper, whine)

as the passing state went by.

The further we drove,

(looking out the window)

I felt a chance....

must be the open road.

A couple of service stops weren't familiar,

until I realized you both

avoiding them for me;

but we caught a few~

Cracker Barrel (1/2 mile off of I-95),

Cafe Old Town (exit 176),

the Plaza Diner in Morris Plains....

It was hard to swallow.

You kept watching me gaze out the

diner window....

I felt the loss.

What used to taste so familiar

was now a foreign flavor

(haven't been able to have

Hot Open Turkey since).

I think you knew;

you kept trying to find

who I once was,

so you could bring her

back with you.

But I wasn't the same anymore;

(just like the weather)

I had changed....

I think,

pulling in the driveway got me the most.

What I once called home

now felt so unfamiliar.

I couldn't speak; not one word.

I walked up the steps to my childhood.

Your embrace was painful

(it felt so empty to me).

As I walked in the house

I went to the kitchen;

I smelled a familiar scent~

then lost it.

I put my fingers

on the closest chair

(it was my Mother's).

My Father sat down;

he looked at me.

I felt the urge to challenge his love

(the anger within this thought

frightened me).

I turned down the hallway

as I would on any day;

I glanced at the pictures;

(my sis and I, together in matching dresses).

I touched the spot on the wall

that was smoother than the rest

(my father, being a painter by trade

never could get around to fixing

his own house).

I headed to the bathroom;

looked into the mirror....

I had failed.

I finally made it to my bedroom.

The bed was gone.

A futon was there, in exchange

(pretty blue cover).

Still my room....

I laid down.

I curled up in the fetal position

with the question,

"What is home?" repeating

(as if I was hearing someone

ask it to me, over again).

What is home?

What is home?

I couldn't answer the voice.

I could only sleep.

Morning came and went quickly.

I could only sleep.

I got up to peer out the window on

the third day.

Looking out I felt a change....

this must be home.

From winter's reign she breaks

In soulful flights to escape

A fledgling corvid taking wings

As feather falls so she sings

Until she drifts before the ground

Greets the hollow without sound

And tucks her bones beneath the earth

In resting once more to worth

So up again and flourishing

Leaves pass in seasons matching

'Till nest's next of kin hatches again

And out that heart a corvid begins

One day may pass that I witness

Her subtle passing over grasses

While your eyes glean the sight

Of your bird of black and white

Beyond mere feather does it say

How love's purpose may refrain

And echo as it does with us

Like the corvid's cycle

Harmonious.  

In the tenth year of the Fortunate Emperor, the year of the Rat, the Master of the Temple of Inner Power was dispatched upon an urgent mission to the city of River Furs.

"Pardon me, Master," said the merchant, "you appear dusty and weary with your travels.  Will you take a bowl of tea?"

The Master looked at the merchant.  "Gladly, but only if you will join me."

"I should be honored."

A carpet was placed in the dust that they might sit, and the merchant's followers held another carpet above them that they had shade.  Tea was brought to them.

"Please forgive the poverty of this tea set, but I am on the road myself."

"It is a solid design and keeps the tea hot.  'Form without function is a great poverty', it is said."

"A worthy thought, though this wretched tea is not up to the conversation."

"You are most hospitable.  Thank you for this moment of repose."

The Master sucked his tea thoughtfully, glancing at the merchant's followers.  They were all dressed alike, in light blue pajamas, with belts of gold and gold puggarees about the legs.  The followers did not meet his gaze.

"I should like to return the compliment," said the Master.  "Allow me to invite you to take tea at our monastery."

The merchant stared at the Master, apparently at a loss for words.  The Master smiled inside.

"We are not characters in a charade, Chen," said the Master.  "We can speak our own minds."

"I have killed the two others you sent against me.  I cannot return as a brother to your House," said the merchant.

"If I order a thing, shall it not be done as I order?  You preserve discipline and good manners among your students.  Surely you cannot waste yourself out of concern for scandal."

"I will never go back," said the merchant, putting down his tea. "I have founded my own school and will continue my own course."

"I see.  You will waste yourself, through spite." The Master stood and returned to the sunlit road.  "Begin..."

If you abandon manners, can your behavior be correct?  If you lack correct behavior, will your methods be correct?  If you have incorrect methods, can you achieve your intended results?  Let your manners be impeccable, your methods be correct, and your goals be properly within your scope, and your consummation of life will be glorious.  Think on this for a candle of time.

blood and tears

leach out of my body

and my heart

becomes a husk

which shatters 

when touched

as if 

it is bone-dry clay

ready for a bisque fire

yet at the same time

it is a beating mass

of scar tissue

attempting to protect

these fragile tissues