I was busy watching the weathervane

hardly hearing a word he was saying

struck by the sudden observation

the that he has never touched me gently

his whole life

he cut through my thoughts like a sword

stinging citrus on his breath

his gloved hand wrapped around my wrist and his serpent tongue lulled me back to oblivion

we've lived out life out rough

worn leather jackets

protecting battle scars

I've spent nights

on the kitchen floor

for fear of climbing into bed

pineapple soap stinging

the way his clutch did

have you noticed

love is tougher than jerky

and sweeter than cream soda

but it's never quite what you expect

like drinking wine from beer bottles

and sitting on your own stoop

out in the cold

when he kicks you out of your own home

I'm trying to measure

the weight of the wind

to thread it through a needle

and embroider a hurricane

to take me away

You torture me with petty acts which wear me down

like a dull kitchen knife

Your words cut deep

a sword

which splays me

Stealing my smile

With your corrosive nature

You are club soda rotting my teeth

You have destroyed me repeatedly

Hardening my core like a pineapple becoming a vane in a tornado

Spinning out of control

cream soda smiles and

pineapple purées,

that's how we spent

those last summer days.

fall cut like a sword,

your worn-leather jacket

cradling my wounds,

drowning out the racket.

to keep warm in winter,

you heart was a warm kitchen.

cooking up love potions

and keeping me utterly smitten!

but we approached spring

with a broken weather vane.

the east wind caught us by surprise-

on our romance put strain.

bright summer smiles

like I hoped, we pulled through.

confirmed my suspicions:

I've fallen for you.

I wrapped my self with his worn leather jacket, he smelled of a hint of pineapple. He exited the kitchen, with two bottles of cream soda with a gleam of happiness in his eyes.

"Don't forget your sword, Adrian." I laughed at him as I extended my hand toward him.

"Wouldn't count on my sword, Elliott. Nor would I need it." He replied, placing a kiss to my forehead, I wrinkled my nose in protest.

The vane made a loud noise, screamed as if it had a voice of its own. I looked up to the roof quickly, terrified.

"Don't worry, Ellis." Adrian smiled. "I'm here."

And he was, not forever, but he was.

Vanes of the propeller flash through my mind,

The vintage sword in the cramped kitchen never looked so vivid,

So there,

So... Solid.

My fevered mind spins,

And I'm thrown against the floor.

Sturdy hands lift me up, still tainted with the sticky residue of pineapple.

I only have his worn leather jacket to console me.

He might have still been here, you know.

If I hadn't spilt cream soda, he wouldn't have been leaning down to pick up the cheap plastic cup.

He wouldn't have been thrust off the side of the boat as it turned sharply, suddenly, without any type of warning...

And perhaps the vanes of the propeller would not have sliced through his very being.

If I hadn't spilt cream soda.

Kill me now

Before I wake

Save me

From your grace

Those icy hands

That breath

Of fresh decay

It's enough for me to say

Throw my bones into the sea

When you've all had your fill

And chopped me

In twos and twos

At least you honored me

With a death

Better than you

There's a full moon out tonight. You realize this in your kitchen, your girlfriend's arm around your waist as you crack open two bottles of cream soda. The weather vane on the shed outside is as still as the night around it.

"Mika," you start, glancing down at her tan face. Beautiful amber eyes look up at you, and you grin. God above, you're one lucky bastard. "Have I told you how much I love you lately?" you finish, and she smiles, all pearly teeth and pineapple-flavored lipgloss. "Only every day, you big softy." she laughs, and you lean down slightly to kiss between those gorgeous eyes. She looks amazing in that worn, leather jacket of hers. Smells like mangoes and stardust.

You look up at the full moon now, and you don't have to see her to know Mika's looking with you. "Beautiful." You glance down at her with a soft noise of prompting. She's got her face buried in your thin cobalt shirt now, a diamond sword from Minecraft printed on the front under the words 'Mogar is READY!'

"The moon?" you ask, and are answered with a tiny shake of the head. "You." Fuck, she is /cheesy/. You laugh as you tell her so, and she smiles, kissing you again. You are one lucky fuck.