She wore a shirt with "Desert Vibes" splashed across the front and nothing else.

Nipples straining against the fabric.

Her attempt at getting his attention.

But the shirt.

The nipples.

They didn't matter

She could have been wearing a trash bag .

He still would have been captivated.

Those almond shaped eyes.

And the way her lips curved up at the ends.

He is already smitten.

And the words are already painted on his lips.

Before he has even kissed hers.

But he can't say them out loud.

Because if he does.

He'll never be able to live without her.

Ara sighed as he listened to the metallic clickity clack of the dogs claws on the hardwood floor.

Geez.. Why a dog? Why did he have to live through the constant irritation.. And the smell! Eeew! Ok. The freaking dog is a robot. And an ancient one at that. But why the hell would they give them scented piss? I mean really? Was it that essential back in the 2000's? I mean it was literally piss smell everywhere. Well everywhere you wanted to sit, or lay, or stick your nose and face for that matter. The damn thing was a relic from his great grand parents and had been handed down generation to generation.. Not like a prize, but handed off as if everyone was afraid to tarnish the memory of good ol' great gamy and pop pop. But come on! Nobody has a dog now. Nobody! And it's not like it's worth anything, even as a relic. But here we are. Decades later. Forced to sit here and deal with the this mechanical dog's barking and pissing and the sound of it's metallic claws tip tapping on the hardwood that ran throughout the foyer and down the halls. Sigh.. If only it didn't piss everywhere..

I met someone.

More than someone.

And we didn't really meet.

We collided...

Instantly piecing together like a puzzle.

Without even trying.

Fuzing.

Now my days and nights are filled with her collisions.

And I hope they never stop.

What would you do if you discovered that your entire life is merely the space between someone else's heart beats?

Their brain the universe of your

darkened sky.

Their respiration the warm summer's breeze upon your face.

The sparks of their ideas fireflies in your night.

Would you reach out to catch

them?

Wrinkling up your nose and closing one eye to peer at the ones cautiously captured in your hands.

Holding your breath and wishing with all of your might, that you could pause this moment, between heartbeats.

Sometimes Dave sings me lullabies.

Strumming melodies that float up to my ears.

Weaving magical patterns into my head.

Intertwined with the hypnotic rhythm of drums.

Native beats.

Speaking to me.

Telling me things I know.

Things I don't know.

Things I want to believe.

Drinking all of it in.

A string structured cocktail just for me.

Hemlock and caffeine free.

So I drink and drink until I am full.

And Happy.

And Drunk.

Swaddled in his blanket of prose, rocking me gently to sleep.

As he keeps singing.

lullabies..

Singing me Lullabies..

The sirens wailed loudly as Douglas struggled to find sure footing among the muck and mire of the sinking vessel. A massive cloud of smoke was impeding his vision and a dull buzzing echoed across every synapsis of his brain, drowning out the clamoring chaos all around him. Struggling through the madness Douglas knew that if nothing else, he must reach the main control box and shut down the main energy valve. A monotonous task considering the current status of the ship and the din of the battle raging all around him. Gripping the railing to his right, the courage in his heart and the last ounces of energy in his body, he slowly and painstaking inched his way across the bits and pieces of destroyed objects. The remnants of what mere minutes ago was "ship shape" and orderly. The screams and shouts seemed to grow louder and more terrifying while Douglas gritted his teeth and dug even deeper, wading on and on, now hips deep in the destruction. One youngster gripped Douglas about the waist babbling incoherently while yet another clenched him with a death grip by the leg. "I must make it" he shouted aloud, dragging the two with him, praying with every fiber of his body that he could just go another two feet to the box! Reaching the remote control Douglas fumbled and then quickly hit the off button to the television.

"Phew"!

"Time for a sleepy baby nap" he said to the twin boys at his feet.

"A nap for you, and clean up time for me".. he sighed as the toddlers giggled grabbing their blankets and scampering off down the hallway to the bedroom.

I'm buzzing my feelings into submission.

Flipping through the memories on channel brain.

A quick live action glimpse of teams Axons & Neurons as they fire off random chemicals in their spectacular cranial wrestling match.

Or is it a schizophrenic mating dance?

Birthing ideations and ideologies.

Forcing disingenuous smiles as we slowly crumble.

Inside.

My friend...

Measure me Mandelbrot, but I believe we're all but fractals of our bigger selfs.

Swirling and Lense-Thirring around our own ideas.

Singularly formulated tout suite by that lovely cream of ice bowl tucked away in our melons.

Tryptophan sweet ideations that begin to slowly melt away on a 1-D slope.

Away from us.

And away from reality.

If only he could fly..

But the wind was much too strong.

Good old mother nature with her

howling and whipping and snapping at his face.

Piercing straight through his paper maćhe body.

Stinging his insides, his soul, his little paper heart.

Swinging and swaying in the midst of her verbal assault.

Tied to a branch, connected to the tree, rooted in her body.

Hand painted face smiling infinitely, staring infinitely.. while the crows come to pluck out his plastic eyes.

Fly off with his straw hair.

The creaks and moans of the twisting rope his voiceless cries.

Speaking In a long lost language,

carried off by the wind.

If only he could fly...