With a flourish of the wrist, he lifted the ornate calligraphy brush from her naked flesh. He knew she'd approve were her eyes not shut. All their last night's intimacy inked out on her lithe, body. The passionate, dark, and forbidden acts. He'd written only where clothes would cover so she could keep the words longer.

Once they were dressed, her makeup immaculate, he gave a final kiss. They wouldn't meet again. He left into cold blue light of pre-dawn, sending a voice message to his business partner.

"The body is prepped for the funeral today. She's in fridge four."

I'm not afraid of infernos. 

Brought up in flames,

I learned to devour.

I fear candles,

The small wicks,

Melting bodies,

Distorting to the ground.

With the pressing of two fingers,

A single gust of wind, 

Lack of oxygen and

The candle will

No longer be a candle 

Until the next time

It is lighted.

She took my heart and took the dog

And took my favorite hat

She took the car and half my socks

And even took the cat

She took the lint from out my pockets 

Took the tiled floor

She even took my toothbrush

And the handle off the door

She took her time to take each light bulb

Out my favorite lamp

She took my old Nintendo

And my brand new Cadillac

She took my two-ply toilet tissue

Took my new shampoo

She took my T-Ball trophies 

And my plastic pink Kazoo

She took the carpet off the floor 

And paint from off the walls

She took my softest pillow

And my oldest overalls

She took my can of Dapper Dan

And took my PBR

She took my fancy plasma screen

And took my DVR

She took my bread and butter

And she took the master key

She took the toaster oven

And my Kenny G CD

So now I sit and wonder

In this empty house, I think

Of how she must still love me

Because she left the kitchen sink

Born amongst the winter months, when warmth is far forgotten

When life is but a rotten seed, or so I’ve thought so often

Grisly thoughts of memory past, which now so brightly loom

The wind brings mist from farther north, where I will be bound soon

What hath become of brighter days, with song and merry sight?

For now I roam through darkest crypts along this endless night

Where shadows grasp with lustful sights, to quell such dire want

Their glasses brim with foulest drops that turns the stomach daunt

What vile deed I abruptly struck for sternest punishment so

In all the years I’ve faced the worst, I’m still my darkest foe

And when the stars come crashing down upon my shaken frame

The man who comes to take the retched, will surely call my name

The bones do ache and nerves stay clenched, such age without the years

I’d hung my eyes from others sight, the gallows made of fears

Always less than those I’d gaze, and less than those I don’t

So cruel those gods who’d curse me so, so pray to them I won’t

No desire to lead the hearts of men, nor follow the brightest light

I’ll wander now, till sorrow comes, and all I’ll see is white…

"Out beyond ideas

of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. 

I'll meet you there"

-Jelaluddin Rumi, 13th century

(Ed and Iris meet in a dream, in a field, where anything is possible.)

                     Iris:

Love! You must be asleep.

Out beyond desires and fears 

there is a field,

 I'll meet you there. 

                      Ed:

I was indeed sleeping. 

But I'm in that field now, where are you?

                       Iris:

I'm not sure.

Somewhere with my feet leading me, and memories dripping from my fingertips. 

                         Ed:

I have called. Cried out even.

In the mist of the sunrise I've looked beyond the wheat and wildflowers, past the magnificent oaks of the wood line.

Ive heard the voices of the morning birds, but their songs have fallen on lonely ears. 

                         Iris:

Is that what that beautiful song was?

                         Ed:

There's a swing in this oak.

Lonelier than I.

Untested in its solitude and seclusion.

Abandoned by those of us afraid to be beyond fear, and further than our own desires. 

                         Iris:

I'll meet you there!

                          Ed:

I'm already waiting.

                          Ed:

 There's a clearing here, where the oaks form a circle. Standing guard of this most private of places. Their long crooked branches with deep rough bark nearly rest on the ground, as if arthritic and buckling under the weight of the wispy moss.

Here is where the tender flowers grow.

Protected by the mighty oak whose offering, is not too much sun, and not too much shade.

That beasts of this size are required for the life of something so soft, so small that a whisper, if spoken too loudly, could whisk it away is a testament to the magic of this forest. 

So now, with sunlight filtered and the winds hushed down to a broken breeze, and the clearing floor alive with delicate colors, I can rest. I am protected.

And I will wait. Like the flowers, the oaks offer me solitude and a spot to flourish.

I see you here!  

Amongst the posies and the pansies.

You've blended with the supple. Thousands of petals touching, pushing, holding against your body, unaware you're not one of them.

They cover enough of you so as you are not bare. There's decency even in the primal.

But it's what's left uncovered that causes even the oaks to cast their eyes heavenward. 

                          Iris:

We have found one another!

In this place I thought was true only in our dreams. 

Cast off your clothes, your fears, lay beside me. 

                          Ed: 

But my fear lies in my vulnerability, my awareness in truth.  

My memory.

My fear is the past.

It creeps froward in perfect time, remaining in the gap, as if to never fully distinguish itself.

It needs the shadow to disguise its true self.  

Can I only watch you from here?

                          Iris:

My darling, these flowers have no memory.

They do not know they suffered death only last winter.

They do not know this same fate awaits.

If they did how could they bear to continue on for the ages?

Who could agree to die a thousand deaths?

Now come, lay amongst the forgotten, the tender and fearless. 

Be with us.

Lose your memory here. 

                         Ed:

I will. But how long can we stay?

                         Iris:

That swing you spoke of, will you push me on it?

                          Ed:

Yes. 

                          Iris:

Will you push me forever?

                          Ed:

I'd love to.

But what about winter?

                          Iris:

What's winter?

                           Ed:

It's the dark time.

It's cold.

The leaves will fall from the oaks and allow the winds in.

The biting wind will cut through us, it's frost will descend upon us, the oaks will betray us.

The soft will not survive.

Surly it will come. Every year it comes. 

                         Iris:

Come, lay with me my love.

Don't allow your fears to rob you.

Don't allow them to steal the beauty that's so fragile. 

Here, I have this spot for you. It's been waiting. 

                           Ed:

It's so soft here.

The petals supporting my body.

It's clear!

This is where I flourish. 

                            Iris:

No more fear of winter?

                            Ed:

What is winter?