Ideas drip down
Like serendipity from the heavens
Of what you might look like
When I finally set eyes
On a scrap of your coat
Or the cut of your jeans
Should a glimpse of the back of your head
In a crowd
Light my nerves
Make me run to catch up
To find
The ring on your finger
third from the thumb
and so
I’ll keep waiting
For drips of serendipity
‘Til I die.
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You and me
Me and you
You’n’me
Me’n’you
Younme
Menyou
Yummy
Menu
I think I’ll have a bite to eat.
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I’m compelled to do things just to piss you off. Like leave the toilet seat up after I’ve told you a thousand times to put it down, or chop off your balls because I caught you cheating on me. And I would. If it wasn’t for all my own affairs.
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Is there elegance in your bones?
Let me imagine you
Your skeleton click-clacking
With nary a muscle nor hair
To impede your dance
Your pirouette
Your ivory grin
As you twirl and spin
And fall to a pile
Of twigs.
Where did you go?
Piece back together your elegant bones
And dance for me once more.
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My new girlfriend fell in love with my stamp collection on our first date. On the second I showed her my Star Wars figurines and she was ecstatic. So tonight, on our third date, I’ll introduce her to my stool sample collection the doctor requested. And I plan to propose.
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He motivates me like cake,
mused Miss Mouse,
as she nibbled and pondered
upon her latest beau.
She found him under the
kitchen table, sniffing around
between the dust bunnies
of old.
For it has been ages since
the big footed creatures
dropped crumbs here and so
there’s little left.
But the memory of cake
like a dream half flown
remains in the back-forty
of Miss Mouse’s brain.
I think I’ll come out tonight,
and try some Mr. Mouse cake,
and maybe, just maybe,
we’ll make crumbs of our own.
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My love lives on skull island,
where roses grow from bony sockets
and children draw faces in caves
where their ancestors lay.
No trees grow on skull island;
only grey rocks, flat and colourless as the sky above
with its eternal cloud cover, threatens
but never gifts rain.
My dear lives on skull island,
damned to rule over sinless children
growing roses as penance
for my death.
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He was strong, so I tried to act robust.
He was kind, so I attempted to be a damsel in distress.
He was funny, so I laughed until I cried.
He was exactly who he was, so I became myself.
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having the Dickens of a time
with chipped nail polish
of a night in
crazed expectation
touches my heart
like music
breathes in my soul
your love is
my saving grace
Linda G. Hill 