Aye! Listen to my ails

For my long lost love of those dry, pale ales!

How parched my barren throat turns aflame

As I stand between these magnificent arcs –

Mesmerized by the ancient, sacred arks

That have been resurrected

From his pain.

Laid naked about like a chipped, window pane!

As I stumble upon that dirt path home,

I brayed in a drunken hum

To the lass who fashioned an evening braid.

But it was she who left cause

To the now broken, beating flesh of mine –

As those tones matched this heart’s hollowed caws.

An in my chance,

I crocheted some chants,

For the school children’s hymns that day.

And in my arid stupor,

As sobriety shapes my logic,

I cowered,

Like a shameful coward,

Under the moonlit reflection I saw then.

My face,

So haggard,

My beard as a dirty crewel –

Oh, how life has been cruel

To a drunkard like me!

Within these dense dents

That lay upon my crown,

I defusely disengage

the frayed edges that linger diffusely in the dim light.

I am of no harm.

But to thee who peer behind

The dark, moldy veil to accede,

My trials,

The gross of my failures,

Will far exceed.

Arriving at the vacation SITE.

We lost our SIGHT with tears.

There was a big Hole in the road.

The WHOLE trip seem to take years.

With a mess the size of a CREEK.

We slowly CREAKed by.

We grabbed the REIN of our steed,

Before the RAIN built up in the sky.

Homophones are homogeneous geniuses

And to two more tumors

Of knotted color, not calor

In court, after four caught, for dual duels

The reporter's nose knows

Who's news with whose noose

It's not fair to have no fare

Whether the weather

Missed the scene of mist seen

And stayed staid that only made

The incorrigable maid encouragable, to

Lead the led there with lead in their head

Those who cast their die, die

The one who leaves, won

Two leaves leave, too

It had only been two weeks, when he asked if she loved him too

But he didn’t know that the answer was no

He knew it was new,

He was blue when he blew it,

He was told to shoo so he put on his shoe,

Forgot the other one, and she had won,

He forgot his cell, perfect for her to sell,

He turned left, and finally left.

Why do you wander the woods, Rosalind?

Among yew wonder, never cease to think?

What it is you seek through your wild, mindless dance?

What horrors has fate threw to pull tears so dense?

Do you not cower in wake of creatures here

Every step, breath, beat, you wake, alert, and hear

Snapping of twigs; branches; leaves; groves; bones and skin

Sound guttural, virgin, leaves you touched; unclean.

Emotion plagues your thrumming heart, my dear

And phantoms of yore swirl right above your ear;

They shame you and scold you; putrid cold hearts do.

Deer dart by, frenzied, crazed, veins ablaze, harts too.

Why, Rosalind, do you envy their fire?

Why can't you, sinner, quench burning desire?

Rosalind, Rosalind, dear Rosalind!

What in this listless prey, deer, do you deem

So precious, desired, due for your screams?

They have seen as much as you, more, in a sense;

Deaths of their brethren also reaped innocence.

So why, oh why, Rosalind, my dear,

Do you seek refuge right here, in these woods?

Hit the brake before I break

I have an hour before our time is up

I'll wail like a whale until you take

Sorry that I've peaked but that must have piqued your interest

A pair of clouds I want to pare away

I'll raise the rays of the sun

See the light scatter across the sea

Prey on my reflection and pray that I'm done

I didn't expect to get a call. I never get phone calls. But after hitting a perfect serve and going to get water, my phone starts going off. I have no idea who it is. I decline the call and start packing up. It rings again. I decline again. I'm almost at my car when it rings again. The caller is persistent.

"Hello?" I give in.

"Alana." His voice. I get chills, and I nearly hang up. "Please, don't hang up." Frustrated, I dump my things inside the car, just as another car ups in. One of the guys is here to play tennis.

"What do you want," I say, as the guy gets out and gives me a nod. I nod back and get inside my car.

"I just wanted to hear your-"

"Don't pull that crap, please, don't pull that crap," I interrupt. I hear a sigh from the other side. "I blocked you, this isn't your number, what do you want?"

"Maybe an explanation?" he replies. I freeze. The one thing I didn't want to talk about, the thing I haven't talked about for months. I start to laugh. "You called me... for an explanation?" I ask as if he were the idiot, and I wasn't the one who messed up.

"Alana..." he sighs, "Okay, fine, talk, about anything please." There's something about his voice that indicates pain, and if anything, I do owe him. "Okay," I breathed. "Where are you?" I ask, I always ask. I want to visually see what's around him and what his facial reactions will be as I talk. "I don't think you want to know," he says softly. "Liam," I start. "Alana," he says back. "Where are you?" I question, again, nervously. "I had a car accident."

"What?" No, no, no. "Are you good? Did you call someone?"

"I'm alright, I'm talking to you am I not?" "Liam, this is serious, are you okay?" I ask, I don't even notice the tears that fall off my face until I catch my reflection in the review mirror. "Alana, I called someone, but I don't feel anything, I'm not sure if...I'd make it."

"Liam," my voice cracks, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"Alana, just talk, please?" I give him what he wants, and I talk about my day, about the previous days, about everything, and anything new. It's not a lot. "Liam? I love you. I'm sorry." But I don't get a response from him. It's a man instead.

"He's lost a lot of blood, do CPR."

Into the phone, "Hello? Is someone there?"

"Will he be alright?" I question. There's a pause as if he were looking up at one of his men.

"I don't know," he says softly and hangs up.

I wanted you,

But you wanted her,

So I moved on.

You hated that,

And you told me you loved us both,

But I knew in my heart that it couldn't be enough for me,

So I moved on.

You tried to choose,

But ultimately,

You wanted her,

So I moved on.

It was difficult,

But you taught me something important;

Life goes on,

I may hate it,

But it keeps going with or without your love,

And so I moved on.

I married another man,

Had children,

Became the perfect mother,

But sometimes,

I still think about the what ifs.

If you had chosen me,

Where would we be?

I'll never know,

Because I moved on.

Two Days Before the Ball

Prince Lorenzo knew the law. It was something he had to memorize since he was a child in preparation for his big future and the inevitable inheritance of the kingdom. The law had been set in place for hundreds of years, a way to keep order within the land and keep not only their ways, but their blood, pure. But just because Lorenzo knew the law, did not mean he agreed with it.

His eighteenth birthday loomed ahead of him like a storm cloud jutting off the horizion. In just two days was his birthday ball and every eligible woman in the country was invited and encouraged to attend. For as the ancient decree announced, every royal must marry a commoner, to keep their blood pure and clean. And yet, Lorenzo was not looking forward to meeting the girls that would come in cotton dresses void of jewels. He wanted those in silks and pearls. No, that wasn’t right. He didn’t care what Princess Justina wore, so long as she was by his side. The Ivivalon royal family were invited to the ball, of course, to enjoy the festivities and delight in the pairing that Lorenzo would choose. Some lucky girl that he would have to court until they would be married at twenty-one. He grimaced at the thought. Lorenzo was unsure of what was worse--not having Justina or her watching him get paired off with another.

He was so lost in his foreboding that he didn’t notice the gentle rasping at the door becoming more hurried with each knock until it swung open without invitation. Lorenza jumped to his feet, startled. The intruders were a nervous servant in his humble powdered wig and burnt orange loose collared shirt. Behind him peered the face of someone dressed more ostentatiously--the seamstress, Madame Damiana Tait. Her plump lips curved into a smile when she saw the prince, making Lorenzo grimace. He could hardly see her smile behind all the powder on her face and her fiery red hair was donned into some sort of aristocratic ponytail. Jewels hung about her neck, given even her own cotton dress a sort of glamor above the other common people. She did dress the king, after all.

“So sorry to intrude, His Royal Highness,” the servant ducked his head and wrung his hands. “But Madame Tait said you had an appointment and she could wait no longer.”

Lorenzo sighed and waved them in. Madame Tait pushed past the servant and immediatley started tousling with his long brown curls. He bit back a smile as he saw the shock on the servant’s face at her impropriety. Lorenzo gave him a nod to dismiss him.

“You really want to keep this length for the ball?” Madame Tait pursed her lips. “We could alter the sides--”

“Please, Madame Tait,” Lorenzo held up a hand. “I do not wish to hear the word altar here.”

Damiana was the one person Lorenzo trusted with his secrets. Sure, she dealt in gossip but he knew she’d take his truth to the grave. In fact, it was his very seamstress who had found seculded places for Lorenzo and Justina to mingle in past royal obligations, though it had always come at a price in gold. Gold Lorenzo could easily afford. Heartbreak, though, was an entirely new and costly thing.

Madame Tait frowned, crease lines struggling to crack through her caked-on make-up. “Perhaps his highness will find a respectable lady at the ball. Perhaps she will whisk you away with her beauty.”

Lorenzo looked away, towards the window. He was ever so prone to melancholy these days. “No one is as beautiful as her,” he said bitterly. It was true. Many courtiers had already scripted songs of Justina’s beauty. Golden hair that fell in ringlets below her shoulders, hazel eyes that looked like gems, cheeks that blushed as red as an apple, and curves that put Lorenzo to shame when he thought of them. Some had begun whispering conspiracies on why someone so beautiful had not caught a suitor yet. Some had already begun to suspect them. Lorenzo knew it was better to get this ball over with and cast his affair aside so as not to cause either of their kingdoms disgrace. But the thought of never seeing her--never holding her again--well, that seemed worse than his own kingdom crumpling to the ground.

Damiana had kept talking but Lorenzo didn’t hear her, too busy thinking of Justina’s smile. He looked at his seamstress now as she was pulling powder blue fabrics from her bag.

”...a nice suit will do and you’ll charm the ladies, I am sure of it,” the woman crowed. “I just need to measure you so I can alt--er, adjust the fabrics.”

Lorenzo nodded and bit the inside of his cheek as she stabbed him with her needles.

One Day Before the Ball

The Friday night before Lorenzo's birthay, they were hosting a dinner at the palace. Because the ball was meant for the commoners, the dinner was something the nobles could enjoy. Which meant it was the last night Lorenzo might be able to steal kisses with his beloved princess.

As the host country, Lorenzo and his family, the rulers of the Ophilian Kingdom were seated first at their long glass dining table. Because the ball was in his honor, Lorenzo was seated at the head chair usually meant for the king, where intricate designs of gold swirled across the backrest and velvet cusions padded the seat. It seemed fitting with the outfit Damiana dressed him in: a royal blue fur cloak that made the room too warm, a matching tunic that fell just below his waist, and dark tights that left little to the imagination. Lorenzo tugged at the tunic a bit self-consciously as he joined the seat of honor. He faced the long expanse of table, in between his parents, and braced himself for her entrance.

The king and queen of Ivivalon were the first to be seated of the guests, their lips pursed in sophisticated frowns though their eyes twinkled. They had been the friends of Lorenzo's parents for decades, ever since the two countries made an alliance. As such he knew Justina since they were children, but in recent years, that friendship had bloomed into something deeper.

Lorenzo sucked in a deep breath as Justina entered. Her tight but full dress swept around her, gold lines accentuating her curves against the mauve colors of her house. A matching veil fell from the top of her blonde curls and settled against her soft, pale neck. To complete her attire, Justina tucked an ermine cloak around her, one she would discard once seated. Lorenzo could hardly remember to exhale; she was so beautiful, and even after all these years she could still surprise him with her shy smile and sparkling lapis eyes.

Lorenzo could hardly make it through dinner, trying to make eye contact with Justina while she tactifully avoided his gaze. He knew during the rounds between dinner and dessert when they usually exchanged bawdy humor for entertainment, he'd be able to get her alone in the corrider, where there is a tiny alcove underneath the grand staircase. But, there were seven courses until then. First came the pottage made with leeks and onions, then the wild boar which he had the honor to carve with the gilded knife upon the silver platter. Followed by the salmon and the stuffed peacock and the buttered bread, Lorenzo watched as their parents dabbed their mouths with handkerchiefs and sipped up their stew. He, however, could hardly eat a bite. He fought a stab of guilt for the chefs who prepared his meals as he swirled his spoon through the food but the guilt did little to increase his appetite.

Finally, just when Lorenzo thought he might scream over the pleasentries and politics being exchanged at the table, they decided to break to the parlor before dessert. Justina excused herself first, claiming she had to use the powder room. Lorenzo was not long after her.

In their hidden alcove, Lorenzo embraced Justina even as she stiffened under his arms. He retreated, lost. "What is it, my princess?" he whispered before peppering kisses about her neck. Her skin was soft and intoxicating. She was right in front of him and yet he still yearned to be closer. But, when he reached for her plump lips, she turned away.

"You're to find a wife tomorrow," Justina said. He didn't imagine the hurt in her voice.

Lorenzo scoffed. "Hardly, we shan't be married until the ripe age of tewenty-one."

Justina placed a palm on his chest. Lorenzo wondered if she could feel his heart pounding. "Are we to carry on like this? Stolen kisses in the shadows?" Before Lorenzo could respond, Justina shook her head. "I will not scorn some poor woman, no matter how much I want to."

Justina made to retreat her hand but Lorenzo caught it in his grip. Her palm was warm. "You know if I could make you my wife, I would."

"But you can't." Justina's eyes glanced down towards the shape outlined in his tights, and Lorenzo wasn't sure if he should be flustered or flattered. Instead, he only gripped her hand tighter, pleased when her cheeks flushed like the skin of an apple.

"Maybe we could run away together," Lorenzo pleaded. "Forget the kingdoms. Forget the marriage mandate."

"And dishonor our families? We have responsibilities, Lorenzo."

Even though the rejection should have stung, Lorenzo loved the sound of his name in her mouth. He brushed a tear away from her cheek and she leaned into his palm, eyes fluttering closed.

"I want to be with you," he whispered, his lips against hers, before hungrily embracing her. She was intoxicating and tonight was his last night of drunkeness.

The Night of the Ball

Damiana really came through with his ball costume. Hours before the guests would arrive, she draped rich baby blue cloths over his shoulders until he was cloacked in form fitting tights and billowing trousers tucked over his tunic that had intricate designs of his family sigil. The finishing touch was a fur cloak draped over his shoulders and cascading to the floor behind him. Damiana had turned him towards the long looking glass, eager for his opinion.

In response, Lorenzo raised his eyebrow at her. He couldn't deny that he was exquisitely dressed and any woman of the kingdom would adore the lavishness, but Damiana knew her worth. She never asked him what he thought.

She only shurgged. "I thought I'd give you control over something tonight."

Though her words came from kindness, they only bittered Lorenzo's heart, and now he sat on the throne like an imposter, watching as each woman entered, announced from the doorway. Some glided in, hands poised on the sides of their ballgowns as if they practiced their whole lives for this. Other girls stumbled in apologetically, and blushed when he made eye contact. Really, Lorenzo was just trying to avoid looking at one girl, stood in the corner of the honored guests. Justina looked beautiful that night; she always did. Her golden dress billowed out at the hips and threads of jewels fell like waterfalls down each curve. Her bare neck was powdered white so that one could only see the lapis gemstone in the middle. Her family heirloom, and a reminder that she was not for him.

It glinted from the light of the chandeliers, drawing his eyes away from the young woman who were preening for his attention. Justina's matching eyes met his from across the ballroom and he found himself striding towards her. When he paused in front of her, she curtsied.

"Your highness," she said, her voice tight as if there were too many words waiting to get out. "Shouldn't you be dazzling the woman of Ophilia?"

Lorenzo bowed, jaw tensed. He knew everyone was watching him. He knew he couldn't break protocol and kiss Justina there and then, but oh, he wanted to. "I have alread found the most beautiful woman," Lorenzo responded, voice so low that only Justina could hear.

Justina smiled, and Lorenzo was delighted to see a blush crawl up her neck all the way to her blonde curls. But her smile soon turned to a grimace as she shook her head. Lightly, she touched his arm. "People are watching, Lorenzo. Go dance with one of the other beautiful women."

Lorenzo scowled and bowed. "As you wish, my lady."

He wished spite didn't rule him sometimes, flowing through his blood like anger. For it was spite that drove him to another blonde woman with curls like Justina's, but her cotton dress hung limply about her shoulders and her smile did not dazzle him. Lorenzo danced with the commoner all night, barely learning her name, so focused was he on Justina's eyes following their waltz. He didn't hear his own words when he announced the commoner as his betrothed; the rushing in his ears was too loud.

The only thing he could focus on was how Justina's face fell--a tiny expression change that he did not miss, but one that showed him she had had hope after all. And now it was too late. There was a ring on his finger, but it was not lapis.