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Happy Halloween Bonnie

Im happy. In a quaint, simple, natural way, Im content. Oh, but its far more than that. Since the dissolution of a certain relationship, to say Id been guarded would be a disgusting understatement. I bounced listlessly between women, uncaring, callous and unrepentant. For any reading this, if I hurt you, I apologize, unless you deserved it. Id settled into my base nature flawlessly, situating myself securely on my own island, protected from the mainlands of real life by my own unrelenting, torrential oceans, powered by ego, lust, vanity and pride. As far as hedonism went, I was Patient Zero. I lived my life selfishly, giving little thought to the consequences of my actions, my compass drawn only toward the whims of my own desires and their satisfactions. But this is no way to live, especially for a man of my intellect. Only a fool can lose himself completely in carnality as it serves as a type of salve for his inability to cope with reality. Loneliness threatened to consume me, feeding upon my sun bleached carcass liberally and freely, as I staved off the ultimate end lackadaisically, numbing myself to the purposelessness of my own existence with liquor, women, gambling and training. However, I am at heart a hopeless romantic. In mid-July, under siege by my own demons, beset hopelessly and fatally at all sides, I prayed for a miracle, for my angel's descent, bathing me in a light so pure and ebullient that all of my sorrows would be evaporated by the sheer force of her love. She arrived, but wore midnight black rather than dovetail white, scented with motor oil and whiskey rather than lavender and rose petals. I took one look and began the dance I was born into, the waltz of seduction, the tango of sensuality. My world would be turned upside-down, and I would forever thank God for the disorientation.

You instilled a long absent sense of innocence in my heart. Your youth caused it to beat steadily, and your love infused it with the spirit it was lacking. Laying in bed, just talking, was more intimate than any experience Id had in those last few months. I knew youd captured me entirely at Barnes and Noble on that summer evening. The sun held court low in the sky, a magenta hued horizon blanketing the scene, setting the tone for infectious romance. I gazed at you peripherally, a photographer not wanting to sully pristine nature with his gaudy, clumsy presence in his well meaning, yet impotent attempts to catalogue perfection. I marvelled at your unnoticed intricacies. The way you casually swept a stray lock of your hair behind your ear in measured, thorough strokes. The adorable way your eyes would recede behind their lids as you contemplated a passage, only to protrude explosively as your excitement peaked. Your stack of volumes, perched precariously near the edge of the hardwood table, weaved stories of demons, ghosts, the occult and the macabre. You possessed a child's insatiable need to explore and imbibe the unknown, to feast on the forbidden and to taste the taboo. All qualities I noticed mirrored by my own soul, fashioned after my exact measurements for feminine lucidity. The snobbish, haughty aesthete in me feasted visually on your physique, while the cultured, considerate intellectual pondered the depths of your own knowledge, the potential you held for deep, scintillating conversation that extended past shallow, surface attraction and down further into the innermost reaches of our private worlds. Your intelligence beguiled and intrigued me, your enigmatic obfuscation of your true face  drew me in, and your lighthearted, pristine purity enriched my own dehydrated aura. I had to claim you as my own. I examined my attraction to you from every conceivable angle, struggling in vain to discover a crack, however miniscule, at what surely must be a veneer. I feared becoming Pygmalion, falling hopelessly in love with an enticing golem. It was you, ironically, that breathed new life into me, that saved me from my own ignorance. I love you, my beautiful girl.

The polished steel caraffe glints surprisingly in the low, dimming light. You have no idea that Im observing you surreptitiously as you peruse Facebook in an attempt to stay awake. I know you tire of these excursions. You are teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, exhaustion threatening to claim you, yet I write, as I always have and forever will continue to do. Garbed in black, our preferred color, your form well emphasized by your costume on this eventful Halloween, I can feel my basest instincts rousing once again. You look delectable, and I plan to feast voraciously. Your hair is wild, emanating from all portions of your scalp haphazardly, blending in thick and full near the middle, combining to form that lush, eternal auburn mane I get high on every night. Your head rests sweetly on my shoulder, its weight easily supported by my own frame. When you read this, tears will form suddenly in the rich hazel of your eyes, riverwater collecting at the base of a beautiful pond. You drive my heart to soliloquy, inspire me to unconsciously compose entire sonnets dedicated to your beauty by the sole power of my enrapture, and capture my attention commandingly with a sideways glance, russet eyes as wide as the moon, hanging delicately like windows in the cerulean oblivion, a rare chance for this fool to gaze into the eternity and embrace of Heaven. Youre complaining now, and try as I might to appear exasperated and stern, a smirk plays on my lips, threatening to reveal my true feelings. Your skin is more inviting than the finest Persian rug, and your kiss is more potent than a caffiene overdose. So yes, my baby, we will go home, back to our hotel room, back to our little microcosm of the life we shouldve had before our exes tore them from us. I used to lay awake at night, grief-stricken and morose, begging God to grant me the reason for the unebbing, continual sting of betrayal. If I had known this was the ending, the eventual outcome, I would endure the burning one hundred times over. I love you, now lets retire to a restful, well deserved slumber. Happy Halloween baby.

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Countertop

Haunting this countertop/ Wondering how could all/ This go bad and walk/ Away from us, the patterns caught/ On repetition in my life, absent thought/ A coward's plot/ To brandish false/ Hope and manage slots/ Left over from the branch that rots/ Away, the old adage copped/ As an excuse, wrath of God/ Plant your balk-/ -ing seeds and stand and walk/ Because you are my spectre/ And I'm stressing/ Out over the time left in/ Our dying ending/ The price mentioned/ Was too much, so I write, wept in/ Quiet, bet this/ Life's questions/ Won't answer why settling/ Down defied convention/ My best friend/ You'll soon fly, stretching/ Our hearts like vested/ Lives destined/ To find remnants/ Of each other in every girl or guy messed with/ And getting over you/ Is akin to choking booze/ Down and moping through/ My days, hopeless, nude/ Vulnerable, emotions bruised/ Soaked in blue/ Feelings, morose and gloom/ My heart poured into/ Every poem proof-/   -read at a bar, alone, enthus