Vanity

"Never ask a woman her age and fear the answer..."

A coiled silk snake of garments wrapped around a willow branch for the Pharaoh's arm to court a dance; Egyptian fish net pearl dress with nothing I am second to witness as my head is a memory vessel for pictures as description. Swarovski crystals woven into spandex cotton blended belted strains of rainbow hues create chandeliers for the magnificence of darkness.

"I fear the answer."

"That is why you should never ask."

Inside a delicate situation is a ballroom of equal magnitude illuminated with fluorescent tubes amongst gold plated to sterling silver molds of lost fortitude forgotten inside the madness of inspiration; there is a child with a mane the lion kisses as his vanity.

"Do you remember me? I remember you...."

The gasp of a young woman is a horror show without film to reel; this is absolutely happening and she is not able to escape the reality of a dream.

"Yes I do..."

"You were the one with marbles. You followed my lion everywhere. I trapped you inside the coat room; how did you get out?"

"I sat in the pocket of the largest one until he came back."

"Dearest me........must of been forever for a moment and a clock for you."

"Yes it was..."

"May I ask you a question?"

"I hope I can answer."

"The answer will be yours as well."

"Please do ask..."

"How am I still this while you are that?"

"You may look to your lion and his mistress for the answer."

"Did you see them?"

"Not yet..."

"Look over there...."

Fingerless gloves of pink lace adorned in cherry blossoms vast of presentation splits open the crowd of wary watery weepers into a couple hand to hand with tongues to touch as seemingly not a soul of whispering words is watching.

Roses even in the season of last approach do not bloom without a solar stare; she looks at the child once more as she steadily focuses her eyes on deja vu inclination without eyelashes to compromise initial perception.

"That is why..."

"Yes tis why, I shan't be ashamed, watch...."

Inside her satchel composed of viola strings gently stitched into a pouch for her necessity is a razor sharp blade enclosed inside a switch made of ebony. Slip of a button retracts a dragon's talon as the woman appears to be dismay; the lion's cub snips her hair off from root onto the hand which opened from a response charisma of innocence splices for a show.

"He will not be pleased with this emotion I have."

"Nor am I; you forget about his mistress."

"So obvious to everyone they are together."

"Except for you..."

"I...."

"You may keep that."

Fluttering with the ghost of butterflies the child is covered from her skull to torso in spirals which haunt the mortality of common men; this is mutual joy for the two in which sensuality is transcendence of time for ships to bay.

"Who is the woman in this picture..."

Farmers are scholars in a land social temptation wills the perspiration of thought; his study is a photographer's library while a few which interest his interests are kept in this notebook.

"There are many of her I keep; she as well."

"She looks like Yasmeen."

"This one you inquire looks like you."

"She does....??"

"Yes..."

"Remarkable is it not?"

"It is..."

"I will not ask why you never showed us."

Islands born of volcano eruptions often bear the children of passion as the man who thus breathed me into a seed spoke these words as I introduce my Beau.

"May I be with her for an eternity?"

"Only eternity can determine the moment which creates a loop for you to ride...."

"She will ride with me?"

"If you can hold on..."

Did I ever leave the islands as the man with a whip intends on keeping me here.

"Nigger!"

"Yeah so what if I am what does that make you?"

"I am not sure!"

"Neither am I!"

Weaker than a lynch for a trunk is a piece of imitation leather flaying at my neck as I grasp the end into a knuckle the man falls off his horse which bows to me as his master.

"Get the fuck off our island! Do you understand me? I will make sure every moment of my existence is to keep you in your place as you attempt to keep me in mine..."

"What is my place?"

"Your place is the ground we both walk. Until you learn how to do so side by side you may eat the fucking dirt I put in your filthy mouth. You should be used to it by now."

"I desire chocolate."

"This moment.....?"

"Every moment......."

"For an eternity?"

"I desire every moment to be an eternity as I taste chocolate for the pleasure of infinity...."

"I a child did indeed hear this."

Sakura is a bloom for every passing cycle amongst the world of named intervals, poisonous as well; these cannot be consumed by mortal men or so the warrior's tale foretells. Only Miko the spirit of dead guardians which fought for the village women places the pink suicidal bud into the mouths of chosen legends to brave the next battle for dignity.

"What does it taste like?"

"Sakura...."

"Yes..."

"I cannot say....."

Yasmeen is holding my hand dear to her nature as we travel through a shallow water with our bare feet into a grove hidden by the scare of unseen folklore; the story is that of a headless horseman we wish to encounter as we often feel our heads are elsewhere.

"Do you see those pink leaves?"

"Yes..."

"Let us be closer to their presence; theirs is amongst powder blue alike.....do you see?"

"I feel to be on the branches as well."

King of coordination lacks the man I accompany this evening as I float without a mirror to the portion of jewels spread about a Victorian table; I wish to touch the blue stone yet as my finger nears preciousness a reflection eludes me, this is water from the crystals above which mysteriously forms in my eye as the drop settles to rest on a slab of maple with rocks.

"You must miss him so much."

"I do...."

"You cannot hide the way you feel."

"I can't seem to remember much about him..."

"A mouse must of stolen your diary."

Cordelia brings me a gift this afternoon before the storm which swept the beach of ageless worries away from the shore of my dreams as I often lay with my twin in the middle of the catastrophe.

"A mirror...."

"Yes this is for the room centering the tripod breakaway."

"The room with the fountain?"

"This will be your vanity."

"My vanity is you and him; I do not know how to feel about my appearance unless near to you both."

"I do not know how to feel about myself without either of you."

"You will always feel as we do."

"You will always appear as we do."

Our swords fall onto the earth stained with blood; we awaken again to see the grass has grown over the wounds we solemnly believed without faith.

"Blush is the flavor of contemplation...."

"Powder is the flavor of concentration...."

"Shall we toast for collaboration?"

"Yes and we will toast for the headless horseman."

"Where is he anyways..."

"I need to ask him a question..."

"I need to know why it is I cannot hold onto the thought of stillness."

"I need to know why I am constantly distracted by the thought of being elsewhere."

Our mutability extracts the photosynthesis from the petals as our teeth determine swallowing is much more productive than waiting for courage to break down.

"You must learn the wisdom of surrender else you will always ask me questions."

Figure of darkness damned of presumption is wearing a hood with a backpack high above his shoulders; over his suspected headless proportion is a donkey with a sickle in a sheath tied around his abdominal region.

"What must we surrender?"

"Your pride..."

Staring into the face of what I recall might be humans if such a title is made without a sound of creation, these must be science rather than nature, a decision to backlash with the mentality of mysticism a layman will never conceive to be his own, I speak a third degree burn.

"You would not be here if it was not for me. What a boring existence indeed...."

As my brain searches for a focal point there is a witness; she appears as a set of bloody strings. I am chasing her with a bolt of electricity which appears to be this body through the glass of nearby constructed apocalyptic towers; next to her is a man in checkers.

"Chester I despise you..."

"I knew you would."

"I despise you more than hatred will allow and love will never interfere. This is genuine and I will always feel this way. Your ignorance is that of a man with a whip!"

A few of the strings streamed off into a static abruption shocking him into a black out worthy of a child's fear as the river passed through me without a tear.

I still am without a clue how I arrived here....

I do admit I always desired to write for someone's enjoyment which is mine as well although the circumstance was not intended I am neither pleased or distressed. Through this suspicion of man is the example of a world which falls apart if not already experienced for assurance tis all over the place as a puzzle without a picture to project as imitation, look for your self; I can attempt a moral for a story if this was elaboration or exaggeration however I shall not.