this is one half of a story i'm doing called:



M LEE + ANN D



Once upon a time in a country not too far from here (but colder in the winter) there lived a girl. She was older and wiser than the writer of this story, and more beautiful by far. P'raps she is wiser and more beautiful than you, p'raps....

She came to me with a cry of "alone and in love at last!," with that cry, dear children, and the stringing strangle-straggle of the three young poets, nay, artists, that were her retinue. With a hue and smile she came to me, this sweet M Lee. A kiss to me she gave, once upon a time, and with her once I rested my head, with me she'd toy endlessly, kiss and breath and the glimpse of (velvet in the rain) her tongue in flashes. For the smell of comfort to her did I cling, blind and mewing, nibbling her fingers with milk teeth that were mine.

The artists, the writer, the singer, and the lush, the artists they gathered around us, but to them and their love of loss, we were oblivious. Alcohol for blood had I, she the match and means to set me alight.

The street beneath our feet was no nearer than the night and it's lights, fissioning and fusing like young bloods are apt to do. To the wall, through the light and the shadow, I ran. The rest, the artists, lost in philosopher's talk. To the wall, warm of a sun since set, to me seemed more dear than my mother's touch. To me I held it close, and breathed into it's ear "to me do cleave, the night will end, the sun will come to warm your thighs once more...but now the night is here, in blues and blacks, for your heat, I thank you dear, and adieu, forever adieu..."

Away from the wall I ran, the artists had passed me by, M Lee was no longer by my side. Ground beneath my tread, tread over ground, swift and fleet, to the light and M Lee beneath. In the car, the front seat, close to me was she. The night, the city, the world was ours, youths of the blue light. To home were we headed, to home! A warm place to lie, a place to close the eyes, a place to listen to a lover's sigh...