holy water anointed

Knocking on wooden doors
The creak of the thirteenth step
White linen fresh from the wash

Middle C on piano

Off pitch
“Practice makes perfect”

His bushy mustache smiling

Fresh lamb broth
Baklava pastry flakes on your shirt
A black and white TV show

Painting of purple trees in the desert

One hundred and five degrees in the shade

Early Sunday mornings

Stockings with a snag on one leg
Chlorine water on concrete

warm honey

You are familiar

From the before time


A nice person

Familiar ~


The sound of your voice


The pitch is akin to

Smoothing out of piecrust dough

A comforting warm welcome

Like fresh honey from the bees knees

Your words &

The way they are used

Concrete & solid like marble

You shape and shift

Two dimensional flat concepts

Into the three dimensional world

You speak; routinely, like clockwork

& I do listen

talking to myself

Bizarre occurring phenomenon
Talking to myself
Missed a call and my voicemail box is full

To the scene of some crime
A murder in a parallel universe

Till death do us part
I swear on my life
I will be here with you till the end

I will love you
I will feed you
I will walk along by your side

I will hold you
& Wipe your tears away

I will punch that asshat for making you cry
I will defend your name
When they try to play dirty
And wrap you in wool when it’s cold outside