Stocked Shelves

I must be a well known likeness; I look just like someone it seems. I am a reminder of somebody; I wonder who they might be. I wonder how many they might be. Looks were made to be deceiving by all means mine deceive me the most.

"There will be a time we will not be together as we are now."

"Then the time is now is it not?"

"A likeness to now..."

"A portion of the current? A part we do not realize?"

"Maybe we choose not..."

"Why do we choose not to experience the entirety of now?"

"Now is not what time seems...."

"The now we think we know is not happening?"

"If we were the moment there would not be a time we will not be together; since we do not know what is now we will find out later."

"Then we will know what death means, more than the end of things."

"That I am certain."

"Will we go round and round like a clock? Every moment will turn into another simultaneously for a circle until we know not the difference. Then will we be together?"

"I'm afraid not..."

"We will be confused."

"Yes..."

"How will we know of one another?"

Watching the back to forth motion of her beloved she is the contemplation of our sentences as we speak; calm as the eye of a storm she is the permanence of a mysterious blue sea.

"There will be pieces left of us to gather similar to a puzzle."

How does she make senselessness logical for even a moment which might not exist?

"We will be puzzled; how will we gather the pieces?"

I am all over the floor.

"Within we will know without a doubt; to be without doubt is to be doubted constantly."

"We will be doubtful. How will we put ourselves back together?"

"Analyzing the pieces we find of one another."

"What if we do not see the same?"

"The pieces will become us; there will be no fulfillment unless we are put back together again."

"I am afraid..."

Dearest to me searches for clarity which I am not; forgetfulness finds me as I am dreaming a child of our passion the gentle water of creation for worried woes amongst the lagoon of strawberry ripe blonde locks of rolls humming to the murmur of sorrow deep within the well.

"I am also afraid..."

She is not afraid. She is an unspoken uncertainty without fear; I cannot conjure a single word for the emotion I see.

"How will we know whom each other may be?"

"That I am uncertain; I will only know what I feel."

"I will always know your lips."

"Must you say that in front of the child?"

"Yes........without regret.."

"You may kiss...."

Past words spoken, I forget where I am; supple mango flesh melting honey drizzles my lips, an island waits for a sword to forge as the guardian fails to remember what holding on means.

"What if you may not kiss due to the will of later?"

We suffer now as we do later which is concurrent multiplied by innumerable emotion of ego for the torture of many men being each of us. Every kiss I delved into her essence; the feeling of pulling away unbearable as this reality formed from our mist.

"I cannot be without her lips."

"I cannot move without his kiss."

Size of a wild cat's fervor is a little person determined to meet her playmate.

"May I see Ambrosia now?"

"At this moment?"

"Yes...."

This must be terminal illness different from underground train stations; she walks faster than I ever imagined could be me. Everyone around hypnotized by the trance of movement, she leans over beholding the neighbor's newspaper; dark figure the girth of a slim palm with arms wide open giggles a bloody gurgle for the posted headline, You Will Be The Next Thing!, charisma of such humor flies by her as bat wings which might of been witnessed, how peculiar indeed.

Running for her glide, a pair of low to the hip hanging in between set of denim legs, the stride of a giraffe must of induced veins, without her at the club named after defiant encounters amongst the wild cat's kingdom....

"What is it you want from me?"

Dragging out a boyish charm wrapped by knuckled gloves, spacer spherical thrice at the fore, screeching through a set of alley neon vaporized eyes color of amber which doth crystallize under profound geometric pressure, pleading for quickness not even a trail of fire can sire for an unnamed court. The walk does not stop not even for a moment or a second's sake.

"What child is in your body?"

"Child of the tiger; you know this!"

"Whose tongue did you greet?"

"The lion which roams!"

Drama neither friend nor foe; disillusion while remaining truthful, ambiance of chaos, breeder of generations, pillar of stupidity, swallower of worlds....

"What was your name again?"

"Doesn't matter...."

"If it doesn't matter then why you here?"

"I need to get a social security card."

"If you don't got a name you can't get one."

"I don't need one."

"If you don't need one why are you here?"

"I don't need a name."

"Then you don't need no card..."

"What do I need?"

"A number...."

"Isn't that what the card is for?"

"Yeah only if you got a name."

"Somebody made one for me."

"Use it just to get paid...."

"I don't even know how to say it; belongs to a girl who used to be my friend."

"She never got over. Now you got to wear her damn name."

"I don't like it."

"Doesn't matter you stuck with it and whatever else she made."

Unbelievable one might exclaim while I still wait for the next thing, whatever it may be, another dream, another nightmare, another in between, another man or woman to come into the house playing the role of absolute misery.

Anyone know we are here? Now we wonder.....

I am dying to find out....

Who reads the mad man's lyrics; who sings with him as he screams?

Will she walk by me again? I cannot stand the vision anymore but here I stand to see her do it again.....again........again.