I filter blueberries through my fingers

     visions of bruising, crushing

     staining of psyche

     robbing of youth and passion

Stroking satin skin of bananas

     velvety walls encasing lust

     green silk leaves sway in breeze

     swatting the insidious flies

     that take a quick bite

Rolling sun baked apples in my palms

     warning that a serpent lurks

     poisoned thoughts permeating

     beneath that energetic growth

     masked disguise of martyrs

blanketed quilt pillowing peaches

     round voluptuous hips

     warm and earthy

     sensuous to the touch

     begging to be disrobed

fertile strawberries offering their wares

     erotic blushes

     tantalizing offers

     fruit of the gods

     promising bounty

juice of mangoes running down my lips

     oozing on tongue

     tangy as taste of a kiss

     perfumed on its hot spots

     appealing to liquid senses

curling my fingers around melons

     plump maidens ready to be opened

     succulence without words

     betrothed in juicy pledges

     spent rinds left at dawn

peeling the clothing of the grape

     angry and dark, yet

     sweet at the center

     warmth and passion

     in sun-baked wine

Moody blues and sensuality of fruit

     undercover fantasies

     hidden centers

     mood sensitivity

     nectar of pleasure

Do you think 

of the pavement with each

graceful prance, each careless

step a mocking pressure 

upon its squalid face?

If it paused 

in its hopelessness

and anguish 

to take stock of 

infatuation and take

offense at your naive

snub

(note: sidewalks, to my knowledge

do not, as a rule

love, think, or bear grudges, still)

it would rear

up 

and skin your

damn-lovely

porcelain knees

even as it daydreams

fondly of that night two

months ago when you, inebriated,

besotted, clung to it 

for dear life 

and whispered 

your numerous sorrows

as it caressed and soothed

your flushed cheek.

Anger is a new sharp knife,

while Pain is the dullness of war and strife.

Sadness is the pouring of rain on a gloomy day

and Happiness is nothing but a sunny ray.

Love is the cackling of a fire,

warming you up like fries in a fryer.

Jealousy is your teenage bully,

and Depression is nothing wooly.

Joy is the bright Christmas tree,

while Shame is a useless plea.

Trust is a loving hug,

Fear is a murderous thug.

Anxiousness is a consuming pressure,

Calmness is no new refresher.

Being Lonely is nothing fun,

Braveness is like standing in the sun.

Fire is hatred

Ice is aloofness

Mud is confusion

Air is encouragement

Water is love

That's what you're really asking me, isn't it?  A pinch of this and a sprinkle of that to comprise the complex blend of human emotions that we call love. Let me see, what would a standard recipe be comprised of?

To start, perhaps a generous glass or two of deep red burgundy for all of the intense emotions that boil beneath the thin, pale pastry dough baked and dried to the consistency of sand and salt, the dry, almost lifeless sense of longing and despair and loss, broken easily into crumbling bits.

But the filling? Ah, that would be full-on cream, thick and smooth and sweet as it hides behind all the others. For that precious and rare commodity, all the emotions that attempt to disguise the sweet taste and bury it deep within the pastry only to have it overflow into and onto everything until it must be licked slowly and with relish and enjoyed to the extreme. For that short, delicious time, almost anything is given and after it ends, almost everything is given to get it back and savor it once more. That flavor, that all-encompassing desire, steams up and swirls around the mind in tendrils of warm aroma

teasing the senses with tastes, touches, and scents of love, that indefinable substance that can take on any form as long as it is pleasurable in the human experience.

Your love was like falling down.

I fell hard, never once made a sound.

Your heart was like an endless maze.

The beginning of the never ending phase.

Loving you was like a light.

One I grew closer to by day, by night.

Your pain was like my bruised knees.

Something that I couldn't ease.

Your anger became a raging fire.

One that I tried hard to tire.

Your pride was a bitter cold.

One that aged me; made me old.

Your remorse seemed a rarity.

Turned me into a parody.

Your distance was an endless winter.

A darkness, an emptiness, and endless splinter.

Your sorrow was the end of a day.

Black, and white, and in the way.

Your confusion grew to a thousand pins.

Needle in a haystack, the needle never wins.

Your addiction was an endless fight.

Bloody massacre, ruined my life.

Your weakness was like a newborn child.

Uncontrollable, sweet, and wild.

Your fear was like an endless sea.

We tried to swim with endless plea.

Your surrender was a diving fall.

A rope to prove the point of it all.

Your death is just the end of me.

Complete, obsolete, and too dark to see.

But your love.. is like the gift that keeps giving.

I remember it's truth, and gain reason for living.

Love is a dancing flame.

Happiness is an endless grassy field.

Calm is a flowing river of quiet.

Sadness is a thunderstorm.

Hate is a tornado, hurricane and tsunami all in one.

Fear is a never-ending earthquake.

Anger is both thunder and lightning.

Envy is a sandstorm.

Jealousy is a wild monster.

Pain is a trail of deep crimson and salty pearls.

Loneliness is the moon.

The concrete road

Of your unending 

Stubbornness 

Rolls on!...

You try to lure me back

Inside

To our old familiar 

Pond,

Where piranha 

Always bite,

And leave us 

Pulverized and raw...

You gotta let me 

Down,

My love!...

...Although a

String of roads

Extend...

I'm finally ready

To move on!...

...My heart is on

The mend.

You've kept on paving

Street for us,

While the daytime

Hours end...

...I don't see an end

To flashing lights...

...I must lay down

The pen.

©

2017

Bunny Villaire 

Incomplete products of combustion

Mingle with my atmosphere

Rearranging molecular structures of the most necessary of life's force

Pop

Crackle

Hiss

Onomatopoeic representations concealing gifts of devastation

This invisible desert choked

Into visibility

Essential levels of my essence relieved to less than 21 per cent

Rapid exchanges become difficult while that essence toils

Greedily, I open up to reclaim that which I desire

Swallowing whole this chemical chain reaction that I lent my being to

Uneasily absorbing what was me, my essence foreign to myself, violence becomes my name

Fighting to keep, fighting to expel this noxious me- this wondrous poison

bonded and binding

Undying and killing