Sideling

Everything inside his house slants to one side. You can't tell from the outside, but if you make it to the front door, or even the porch, and look in, you can see the haphazard way in which he lives. One thing leaning against the other; all are waiting for the slightest tremor to fall. Room after room has been destroyed by the careless misstep of a visitor or guest. Soon there will be none left. I have not stopped by in quite a while. I'll admit I no longer care to.

Ingénue

He watches her walk down the street, music in her ears, shade over her eyes. She carries on, oblivious to the magnificent world around her. She smiles as if that gesture were enough to welcome her into the folds. The old man just shakes his head. Perhaps she owns the summer, but it would be a shame if she never knew it.

Microcephaly

They used to call her a freak. Poorly made doll, head so small and full of air. She used to dance, because she couldn't hear their jeers. Then she grew old, and the silence of her golden years melted into the shrieking screams of a woman neglected. They'd played around with her all these years, and only now did she feel the stings. There she goes, wandering the streets, begging for a change.

Jolly Roger, mishmash and Archimedean screw

Held hostage by memories. Rubbing lotion onto smooth skin. Visiting sites of ancient technologies that are perhaps more marvlous than those of moden times. Breathing in smog and leaving out details. Stories, footsteps, glances, palabras. Todo en motion. Nada por sure. Not sure where your voice is coming from next. Only longing to hear it.

Belles-letres and ennui

There used to be a passion in this small maiden form who used to long for worlds afar and dream of people she'd meet and be but now she finds herself alone and though not necessarily lonely, she doesn't quite know what to do with this new emotion, this new doubt, this new welling up of needs and instincts that contradict all the ones she's known before. She isn't unhappy, she doesn't have regrets. She just isn't the same person she used to be before. Her pen goes to paper and pours out different words, different ideas than the ones she thought she had. Could it be that she is changing more than the places around her?

Impend and ristra

It's coming, and she can feel it. That phantom sensation. That marriage of souls, which she hasn't truly known in a little over three years. The ring still sits on her finger, the image in her mind, the love in her heart. But he's gone. They're gone. She's here, alone, in the pantry, searching for something to fill the emptiness. The physical, the rumbling in her stomach, she can satisfy. But the deeper pain, there's no cure for that. Nothing in this world, anyway.

Smutch, gimcrack and Antarctic Circle

There's a stain on every memory she carries in her heart, but the trick is that they're all in her blindspot. She doesn't see a single thing that doesn't agree with her glorified visions of the past or the future. The present is the only time she cannot deny, rewrite, repress, or delete. This limitation floats her farther every day, down the icy rivers, toward a frozenness she might never escape. I try to melt the chill with my smile, but she doesn't buy it. She doesn't trust me. She doesn't feel my warmth.

Coaming and peruse

I'm trying to stick to it, to the mandate she set for me, the goals they have for me, the ambitions I carry all on my own. I feel the urge, the hunger. I seek the light. There are only so many ships on which I can sail, only so many seas to explore. And yet... possibilities feel infinite. So I'm trying to peruse these maps, to find the brightest star and get there. I feel like I have to go alone, and yet I already feel lonely. I guess the first thing to pack is my strength.

Homocercal, orison and floruit

We are cut from the same cloth, and I know that the ties that bind have already been broken once or twice, but still I can't help this feeling. This hope, this prayer, this sinking in my chest cancels them out and I sit here quietly holding my breath, waiting for it all to subside. This is our time, our golden chance, and I've savored every second of it. There are no regrets, no moments I'd take back or trade or rewrite. The only thing I'd wish for is the chance to live it again, whenever I chose.

Hircine, hymeneal and rémoulade

The young girl smiles and it breaks your heart to know that smile will never come again. Never that very quirk of the lip, that dimple in her cheek. Another, perhaps, and similar, but never the same. She will slowly succumb to the world's sorrowful news; it will follow her and gnaw at her sleeve like a kid goat that doesn't know any better. She'll live that way, with few reprieves, until she weds her dreams to reality. Then she'll be a dutiful wife, serving hors d'oeuvres and making small talk, and always looking wistfully back.

Frenum and caballero

I desire a swift, fast ride on a strong, steady horse, whose nature I trust and whose name I chose. We'll start at dawn and elect a still-green path; our prints will be the first left on that land. Trailblazers, that's what we'll be, leaving smoke and ashes in our wake. Then, when we reach the end of our road -- and who knows where that will be -- I will let my horse go on its way while I sit and watch the sun set. I will not limit or control it. I believe in free spirits.

Mashie

Things that I don't know: golf, quantum physics, the future. Things I don't think about: golf, and quantum physics. The days get shorter as the time slips silently by, but when I'm lying there beside you, listening as you breathe in and breathe out, watching as you blink in your sleep, everything freezes. I wish I could preserve it, that moment, those feelings. But I can't. Only in my mind, my memory, my precious memories of you. The truth is, I don't worry anymore. I just take it, the ebb and the flow, the come and the go. The waves feel like little kisses upon my skin.

Penetrant, corvine and ginkgo

There is a piercing cry from somewhere within, and the cavernous walls tremble with its ferocity. It's a hunger, a lust, a deep and soulful longing. Nothing short of eating crow could satisfy the need, the desperation, the hope. Waiting for this small yellow tree to grow into a man, waiting for too long. Waiting is so wrong. And yet waiting is all that can be done.

Oblivious

I think you are Saran Wrap: clear and clingy, sometimes helpful, sometimes invisible. People use you, but complain about you when they don't need you. You keep things from really going rotten, but you never get to eat. You aren't perfect, you get stuck on yourself, but 9 times out of 10, you do exactly what you're supposed to. You're reliable. You're fantastic.

Does Saran Wrap know it's fantastic? It should.

Redolent

The crimson cover carries our history and I wonder what waves of memory could possibly linger for someone else. The sights and sounds and smells of the years past compel me to be unreasonable, to hold on when I should probably let go, to give in when I should probably give up. The truth is that I realize what appearances make people say, and I don't care. I want the comfort of knowing I took my fate into my own two hands, and this is how it turned out. I'm well-aware these things can't last forever, but they can last a little longer, and so I will do my part to help them.

Gatefold

Fold and cut along the dotted line. Then you'll have two, and two is always better than one, right? Only when you're home alone, waiting for that phone to ring. All your friends are out tonight, and you miss the way you used to smell when you got back from a wild time. You miss the way your feet hurt. Now that pain lives in your heart. So fold and cut along the dotted line. Every second you wait is another chance you've lost.

Masseter

Pass my fingers over his masseter, his jawbone, his chin. The soft, smooth, taut skin. The little black bristles that speak male. My heart smiles into his closed eyes. My breath mingles with his peaceful silence. Our sideways world is so much calmer than the bright bustling up-and-down one. I'd stay with him there for a long time -- just long enough, and then a day more.

Prostyle and bedevil

She worships at his temple; I plead with her to see the light. Even though my stories of salvation are tantamount to lies, what matters is that I believe them to be true. She tells me of the dreams that haunt her in the night and the thoughts that plague her through the day. I tell her to smile and carry on, for soon her pain will go away. She doesn't believe me, and I don't blame her. Heartbreak, like love, is blinding.