hazel

l

in a muted glow of chatter, robed

spring of night pushed the door, and in a

pillowed footfall, swarmed up the upturned

knees of the armchair; legs crossed, celestic chasmed,

leaning a sole snow beam to dip in

a black cloud pool, still, midst 

two counts of contoured umbra; knuckle tucked chin, wiretapping - the

rippling current in the draft, in that silhouette's ear slipped

their crescent murmurs mooning with canes,

hand in glove with its oceanesque rain;

The living room held

a silent cradle of empty ruins.

still in its upside down pride

the armchair seated a deeper night, pillow flung,

and two shadows sat, their hands over their knees, listening to the other's lisping rest.

a silver pen shimmered their edges.

“I am really sorry,” he finally took forth a dare upon the creaky iced pool. “I shouldn't have forced myself on you. That was simply horrible of me. And I'm incredibly sorry. It was so absurd, even after knowing that you . . .”

“Cannot reciprocate that kind of desire?” a wry twitch of her lips. “It's kind of amusing how it gave you the slip, my asexuality. You never unhindered even one little mishap, typically.”

“I suffer from dolttitis. It has been known to dim the lamp's knob of one's mind, and bounds one to turn a mooncalf. The cure must be to crack their head against a corner, till there's no head, because that's just the kind of clown headlessness this is. And yes,” He, head hung, seeked again. “I'm awfully sorry for it. Every day, I'll pocket its regret.”

the ceiling lines leaked, slithering

down to meet their toes

in frantic memories.

the secrecy of dreamless sleeps

the dreamers cheast, clothed from the world's nose.

“I know you're sorry, know that you didn't mean it. It's okay. You're my worldfriend, anyways,” Pause spoke a while. Then, “Tasted gross though, don't ever do that again. Only the thought of those lapping spits . . . ” Shudder.

“Never to the ever, I promise.” Sid swore, earnest.

Smiled she, promised;

for him

promise held

his life

their shadow handed a shilling

to the floor, touching her

home's road;

and his murmured,

that he hadn't the faintest idea why

he even did it. he already was taken in love, so what if not with,

and “I feel nothing, save for a nagging mother hen love for you.”

his eyes shook

with guffaw.

and hers bristled,

arming itself with ghastly curses, and a pillow;

death dodged him; laughs.

“I don't nag, you clown, that's your flair!

And about today, don't worry for it.

We're still digging us, and that will never stop. When

you've mined to the core, though, and

shook hands with yourself,

you're not to forget the underway

that leads to our half sagged fort,

you hear?”

you hear?

she reached for his shadow.

i do,

he reached for hers.

If not you, stalebutt

then who?

she,

was a mistletoe's berries

jewel jinxed from a mother's brine;

a crayon's shadow,

shading each truck trodden fall,

but to her own,

a collision.

a side road swerve to long sleeves

that pulled a drape over her

pedestaled inexistence

shuffling in a crayon handing

small, snoozing shop

toothless in its grin kindmarked.

her eyes, yes, were cerulean so

watering a hazel love that, clouding steams,

she flamed herself powder, but to give.

their shadows leaned, hers and his ---

each to the other — clasping —  and his demanded due, they

let pause, there, home.

For,

she was Hazel Jones.

-