she brings me flowers

Every day she brings me flowers. Every sweet monday she makes my heart swell, ya, when we kiss ’cause each kiss feels fresh on my lips as i remember, each one i swear. None the same. Like the flowers. Quotidienne and per diem, so there never be no question where or when. And always its a mystery to me. She is. Her method. Her madness.

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She is my girl and that U see is what U see and what U get and believe me what you want if you want the best and most dramatic kinda play out in life’s long theater of tears tied together and strung up on the clothesline to dry out in a new kinda shape as we evolve and fall apart and come together and bleed each our colors carried of how we really wanna convey how we each one another feels, without having to pawn no formerly owned mood,  nor thrift some worn out poor excuse of affect, nah…

Haha. We got us and well enough scandalous in screaming porous moments whereby grains drop out, strains of our each own peculiar way or ways of trying, of effort to come to ground, to land it. To come to knowing like the fabric the cloth so wellworn she be mundane, effortless, easily given. Make no sense the other end of the line might go dead every other time like it may. Like it would. Like it did. Like whose to say but it should? Incommunicado i swear. Like half the damn time, and how? Make no sense. I could pull out my hair. Na. Never will. Haha.

All i know is….

She gives me flowers every day. Every fucking day!  Imagine a cut fresh and colored in 4 shades of blonde from root down on. Shirt barely holdin’ on.. shredded up and down and almost -GONE!  This young lady pushed violence so naturelle or so it seemed.  Young at heart? whatever the hell that means, shit, she was young and she had something something just drew you in like any kind of invitational to fire lake surround those burning eyes.. She might squeeze the sun to sunburst. Watch out boys. girls. No chance if you gentle. Do not enter! Not done. Or not told. Cause those who did, must i continue? those who did, did not ever never grow old.

 Wild still -a cyclone of a presence – and most certainly out of her mind and into something more comfortable, slipped. She don’t fuck around! Cuts attention up and divides like a magnet. All filaments stand up, kneel down. Visceral over all won out. Tenderness clotted up in cartilage like the blood of corn syrup sour candy… up the far banks of the muddy bottoms of her living. the lifestyle half chosen, half fate. Acceptance was a — scratch that. sorry. move on now…hey judge? haha. can we scratch that from the good record? Na. See there aint no judge of colloquial expression. Though there may be, i dunno. Gotta stay on point, cause its critical i dont know why but i need to do this. I gotta.

She, well we, we moved in the way you may like.  She — i mean we — either heartened or disheartened ya, nah none inbetween no… nah none there just nada nothing nix. All real. Okay.  No trix. Yet unreal is what i saw there also, by the light of the real come the shadow of the unreal, and i will not say vice versa, though that may be like the church people used to tell me when i was little. See, makes her, our scene so maddeningly hard to capture! see? Mmmm. I wanna say so i will say –If crazy was not an extremity no more. thats got some kernel of us in it, it has. Ya.

Indelible no doubt in your consciousness imprinted. Yet still her flower essences hid behind windows tinted. She was half white trash and half Puritan, mixed up makes her some crustacean from some panthean disbanded below the coral reef to become an aura or aroma or floral signature ignited to rise up above your average scum manifested. Her differentiation was painful; these are not trial separations. She takes them like spirit emigrations in flight from adamant inflexible nations.She picked up her pieces of glass and softened them. She could then move on and wish: best of luck with reparations.

Again she would be leaving, and leaving her impression. They were tremendous losses for her. No one could know. Her eyes could and did and told, and betrayed her such a way. In such a fashion made her vulnerable, they say.  Na. I just invented they!  Okay. Settle down me. When i can i will i do i try atleast i try at the very least i do try now, i do. Rumors glanced and cast momentarily off her. Could not hold. No. Not in those celestial days we made it under the Cathedral De Luxe. She never meant to go off like that, hella crazy kinda fux. Passionate peeling and push of great feeling. I know this hardly makes no sense to no one. But there is no better way. Sorry if i got you caught in my indeterminate grey. Na. I am not. Haha. Not sorry, no!

 Sometimes i still feel the moods drip into one another — bubble up to the surface. Okay. I had to tell you. Cause im nothing without her. I am relative to her — she fills all of me…some days… i hang over her like summer san franciscan fog beds. Embedded in her. Losing myself sometimes in her…dangereusse… poison like leaded by her. Weighted. Pencil #5 when we met. Eleven when we dated. There. I said it. Set it forth into the space like she had been before. Tumbling down the throat. No lack of certainty. No mistake, I wrote. head low, emotions uprising, looking for truth, realizing.

 There the waves foamed and ripped around her, around us? I dunno but im sure I was there, too, I was! stormy, clashing, leveling her inside her. often would she gasp in the silence. shallow breath deepened, and the space heard her, listened. her gasp filled all the air and was received thoroughly. leveling her inside her.

Continuity of sound, great purity! ha! ya. its really fucking great it is.

No, no! i am far from ready to share of myself, she whispered in the midday light some days. Her whispering sounded like waterfalls a city block away. water and blood rise effortlessly to color the scene. clean. such is the extent of vitals risen. but mostly the signs said dead end. over and over again, days infrequent, when she could discard whats no good for the heart, she knew… we knew….i knew.

She was she is she may and always will be, my life. she. my spirit.  i came to know. became a given. given to me. so thus with appetite did i do i will i digest her glass of tall cold water with a lemon and ice, all the while so to effort to ask all hatred be lifted off my heart. she taught me. yes. i gotta pray, remember to pray.

 One ray of california light at a time. only some lucky days could i walk with her, with her with the divine. Some lucky day divine i pray…

well today was one.

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