when ideas of her only spark a distant trail

glitters come and go
through the thrust of a breath.
the breath i kept inside me,
hidden from her pores
and the scales of her skin.
she is deprived of water
and if i let her drink me
i too will evaporate into her tinge.

days tick a little too slow,
i feel groggy. untouched.
unloved. and tamed.
she flows past me like a midnight
mardi gras, where the only way
to stay with her, is to put beads
around her neck.

she won't flash me though,
she knows too well what that might bring
it might distraught another idea
that flying in the sky
is more timid, than talking here on ground.
because what goes up must come down
and we have no chute.

i loved her fragrance, the smell of the perfume
she wed herself with in a gaze at the store.
she just had to have the oval purple bottle
all to herself. grasping the neck as if
nobody was around, smirking, looking at my wallet.
that was when i poured my credit card
into the clerks hand. let her have her deeds
and waltzed away.

we parted ways shortly after
she kept her stench. i kept my money.
doormats stay loose in this spring
because the fall only falls when i lose my heart.
the winter looms and summertime is to noavail,
seasons don't seem to be in order
but quite honestly i don't record when they come
i just know the bitter cold when i feel it.

so back on my memories of her
and the lasting ideas that she can free my
darkened shell and crack me open
and read the fine prints of my life.
where i wanted my letters written in cursive
the calligraphy to her last name and mine
linked together with a hyphen.

i, only know so many little letters
so many small intoxicated languages.
so many ideas, shaped together in linguistic
integrity, where a haiku can actually translate
into English syllables.

it is rare but it may happen, or maybe im just drunk
drunk on words or ideas that she is leaving
right in-front of me, as my head spins and i fall
to the ground. where tomorrow.

i wake up alone.