Labor

Gifts of lingerie she does not adorn except when feeling alone....

I would be her lover if I was not an admirer. She must not wear any undergarments except a sling for sport; must I discuss the situation further, perhaps not at the moment, maybe later when nonexistent, maybe a time for comfort, maybe never at all.

Just once for me.....if not for me then for him, for him is for me.

If we ever see him again; she adores him, I want him, she desires him, I hunger for him. Maybe the other way around I forget for the moment......maybe later I will remember, not that important as we both agree upon lavender dreams....

God damn just wear the secret, excite me to be disappointed; no lavender man to share the experience? Damn I will surely die.

"Violet....Viola....be my flower without strings, I will be your dream....."

She walks by again; where am I standing?

"What of your wife?"

"You will be my affair for eternity....."

"I feel for her so much; she must be somewhat aware..."

"I asked..."

"And..."

"She set me free."

"She must be more of a fool than I ever imagined..."

"She is..."

"I would never let you go."

"You did..."

This house will surely be the end of me; this house will surely be the death of she. Engrossed empty guts must explore the kitchen electrical cold box which short circuited from the thought yet functions now even still a bizarre form wearing spectacles, foul of a politically incorrect foreign accent, curses of illegitimate fanatical religion under a buzzard's slim picking of carcass breath for me to feel special, blue dye short of black strands of graying appearance, slicked back skin slimier than petroleum jellied latex, clothes tackier than a wall full of employee do's to don'ts restriction board, stinking the vents of construction worthy digestive systems.....damn not a single did I forget.....mind to mention the woman who portrays her unfortunate motherly figure wobbling to a cough of clown hair hastily grabbed off Ronald the hamburger cheese of senior citizen stereotypes squeezing chubby cheeks. I laugh; I am insane.

"I do not know how to feel about your labor."

"I am not with child....."

"If you were with my child would you still work?"

"I would work for our child."

"I do not want you to work with or without."

"I need to work."

"You need to think about our child."

"I cannot and work at the same time."

"The thought is much more important...."

Time is running out; I will be decrepit before I figure this out. Even so dying in beach sand as the bluest ocean crashes over my body he might be found, with him I am eternally young, with him is everything, everyone.

Swelling up sinus particular allergies do not allow passage, two felines of torturous habits choose their dwelling the same; one prone to urinating where she pleases the other shedding tinge of nails against furniture, at least the house is not full of roses or is it?

Bored of exhaustion I am tireless emotion; stillness of sorrow possesses me as I dream possession of her body, unlike the one I must of misplaced, reminder of the one I remember, I need her as my own if only she succumb to endearment of dreadful tyranny amongst peasants, I am aware of the happening, she is not, she is aware of reality, I choose not.

"Whose child came from your existence?"

"The tiger...."

"Whose child will inquire of his existence?"

"The tiger...."

"Whose child will he belong?"

"The food of the godless."

Smoke clears the valley of curiousness as the fire sweeps away from shadowed architecture of Victorian damnation, away from Shakespeare's romance; a crow sacrifices his most lustrous feather for a fallen angel which appears before my eyes.

Grey as the spill of tea on a man's hypothesis, cemetery gravestones vacated of bones peeks through the crescent moon shade, black panther lays the thickness of space around his smooth cheek bones; the tiger brings forth the dark cub.

"He does not speak..."

"He lacks conversation at the moment."

"He must wonder how he exists."

"He exists....is no wonder at all."

"He wonders how he physically pervades his own being."

"He eats food of the godless......no wonder at all really."

"He is the child of a man regardless."

"He is my child."

Out of sight I am looking at that which somebody writes; maintained by a movement the writer must be moving with the motion lest he will not write.

This dimension I watch her walk is the realm I desire to come together; this world of insecurity we suffer I desire to be our meeting place. Dreams will no longer satisfy; I can no longer escape my demise, not even for music chosen by the duet of compassion, tune of a station, commitment of memory, noncommittal phrases, I must survive lest I may not see her again. If not I will surely die, unintentional dramaticism, the thought of her keeps me alive, the thought of her keeps the woman of practical magic close by, the thought of her is the woman's essence, mine as well.