I remember that trip,
with the scooters,
and the soft laughter of the afternoon
as we explored a village
tucked into the memories
of a thousand years.

As the light crept through the plaza,
we stopped for coffee
and you spotted the shop.

It was a storefront,
older than my dreams of you,
and we walked over
to spend an hour
touching the history of lives
entwined with our hope,
and you picked up the bowl
and fell in love.

Past times once,
the table held
the remembered essence of
family laughter and sharing
meals made with a mother's love.

While she was alive,
the table was like a quilt,
keeping the monsters at bay,
forging a treaty against destruction.

But without her to tuck the corners,
to smooth the wrinkles,
to kiss the forehead gently
and wipe away the tears,
it became a blackboard;
detailing fault, listing blame,
and seeping them with the misery
of all the lost seconds.

To couch it in unmistakable terms -
it's the lair of an untamed beast;
what a leaf does while fermenting
in a decomposing heap;
and the tool of a psychiatrist.

It's an indirect expression;
a bending of the head;
a lurking or a hiding,
with ambush imminent;
'tis when the sword is lowered for attack.

It's the frame the barley
is malted on
when brewing my favourite drink.

'Tis the board on which
the soggy pulp's
turned into paper sheets.

vermillion hot
tied up in knots
roar to the blaze
while a speed
screams
wind past
hidden eyes

CHOCOLATES
and CANDY
darkness
drizzled in Brandy

that knee shall heal
and the black
rises blue like a night
curves squeeze
the pains real
emotions feel

the ribbon hypnotic
spewing fears
swallow
every tear
drop

plan every
broken
hearted
key
on the twisted
keyboard
of Melody

...