Green and glossy as dewy grass one day turned seasoned and sparkling like the city at night the next. Girlish gleaming day dreams set a drift daily still comfort like blankies and stuffed animals. Just nowadays the animals sought aren’t stuffed and neither is the carnal conjuring that can often accompany such a mood. And it never seems to be enough even when the wanter and needer is deemed to be plenty but handle with care because the much is just that. And please, by all means, handle hard and handle often if you dare but don’t ignore because once at the table, the meal is served. Eat up, you don’t want it to get cold and dessert is always the best part. We like it sugary over here. Candy coated fantasy laced with a fine direct line to reality served white hot on a silver fucking platter. How much easier could it get? Alas, nothing is free, besides the love letter written word or the phantasmal spoken word against the skin like a song to the tune of red flags flying with a giant F for freak like a beacon but bound to the imagination and lost in distance, desire, action and reaction. Never letting the light dim for sheer fear of the dark no matter how well one’s adapted to it, it’s still dark. Holding on to the hope and the want and the need that lingers under that oozing surface. That warm to the begging to be touched top side of the ship set sail oh so long ago. Lost in those thoughts and in deed but never far away from either. Just got to get those thoughts to those deeds and things could be just right as rain but sadly and unfortunately humans aren’t animals and some fear getting wet for the sake of drowning. But baby, don’t you know that’s where the good stuff is. The secret stash to plunder like an emotional pirate. Keep saying it and the belief will sink down deep like a preacher on Sunday. Speaking a sermon so slick and sweet, who wouldn’t sip it like Kool-Aid on hot and steamy summer’s day?? It’s all in the words. It’s all in the moment. It’s all in the hustle. And then, it’s all sent off and sealed by a sweetheart’s kiss with a summons to be back again. Back to the frontline fabrication of the invention and mirage of the polished, primed and put together convention that stays to play in the mind. If that’s all there is and that’s all that’s left, I suppose it’s livable and doable but time can be greedy and so can the heart and the body. Once the deserved is felt, solo feels good. As good as it’s always felt. Set that table for one because those words want to feed and fuel the mind. Especially a shimmering and a starving mind. The body left to sit and wonder where it went wrong but what it does is oh so right. A feast of fancy with the beast of burden and the queen of hearts. One for the books with pictures in color and the stories to go with it.