You and I are small-time elegant crooks.
Our smiles, the perfect crime.
We were never lovelier.
In that moment, we hoodwinked them all.

I'll start the car now?
Shake the clip..
I think we should go home…

For E.B

She let the wind touch her; kiss her with a slight upward turn of her jaw. The darkness had fallen long ago and dusk was waiting in the wings to lift her, in the final controlled limp fall – held until the cheers of silence fade away.

She was aware of no one but the whisper on her shoulder, the voice that was life’s own sweetness - The truth. Her every muscle aware of it’s pained place in this music less duet. Her partner pushed her to believe, to move.

Was than that she ran, leaping with the stars. Her freedom a trade, fading as her fingers touched them. Her elegant line, a line of hope, breathing as she ran – fast and stricken. The world bending and changing, how fate would shape it.

The shadows came out to hold her. The whisper bent to kiss her, dusk gave way to brilliance. In it’s hold, they were lifted - like moths to a flame. All at once the two became the flame. Consumed now, so that they may consume.

Complete.

This thing that I tap away at is not a piece of writing, rather a verbal vomit. I hate it when there’s nothing, so I write about the nothingness. When I bury myself in a well-written book, then and only then, do I feel the need to write. My muse stops being my own, and my narratives begin to reflect that which I read.

There is hope of course, that I will become infamous for writing books and books about the death of my muse. That I shall appear on cable TV recounting the bloody crime scene, “Some names have been changed.” Maybe I pushed her off the train that day. That is for me to know and for you to find out.

Mine is a pattern – Buzz, write, stop, dump. Got that, rinse and repeat as desired. My muse comes knocking, being supportive and sweet. We embark on an exciting trip together and words pour out of us… then we come up against dry land, all ashore who’s going ashore. There we are, stranded on a desert island. She skips off to collect shells, in which she can hear the sea but I cannot. That magic is lost on me because I’m to busy trying to flag down a damn boat.

It is a once in a lifetime thing. So akin to the moment; you breathe after a mint. There's a truth that is felt - purity.
For that one moment, you cannot deny you are alive.

With you, I am bathed and cleansed. In this cocktail of imperfections,
a combination of that which we both are - our breath.

I choose to drown, let me go.

He stood in the darkness, looking into the half opened doorway. She slept there. The night breeze from the broken windowpane shifted his long untamed curls onto his face, his serene death mask. Broken glass seemed to crunch under his feet as he moved to enter the room where his prize lay.

She looked like a dead thing lying there, only the slight flutter of her eyelids and the tell tale rise and fall of her ribs, betrayed her life. The moonshine cast a glittered wash over the bed linen. Her blonde hair a matted wreck, stuck to the hollow, sad little cheek streaked as it was, with a Kohl-tinged trail of tears. He knelt on his haunches; let the sweetness of her breath kiss his senses. Longing for contact was just too much and he closed his gaze of her, just for a moment.

”Sleep, “ He whispered “sleep where I cannot. Breathe for us both, give this thing life” In his distress he fell back; his back finding the wall, yet there was no sound that might wake her. She did naught but moan through the lips that haunted him. Plump, red and close enough to cause him agony. Wringing his hands through his hair, he sat crumpled
” I am here, “ It was his mind that spoke now, reaching into her dreams “always here, where else can this ghoul be? I am but a place memory now. Your marker my love” His fingers reached her hair and he breathed an empty breath, with the last of what he was he was able to feel that simple golden strand. Soon though, it was gone to him again.

Weakness was washing over him, the world bending, fading. “Remember me and live…remember…”

Naught but blue….