Free Letters to Dandelion by Xve Page A

–
    haloed effects,
    I remember,
of her soft, supple skin,
    moist eyes,
    licorice lips
    and undeniable tongue.
     
    We made love in Heaven’s
    front yard for a little while,
    as vapors of lace,
    and the smudged haze
    of the colors of the spectrum,
    seemed to dance all about our
    naked skin.
     
    I’m such as horrible writer.
    truly,
    As I could never –
    fully have you, oh Reader,
    just to understand,
     
    What was in my hands.
     
    My path of life, crossed one
    of the pillars of Womanhood.
    of Seduction,
    of Arousal,
    of Induced Passions.
     
    And I couldn’t handle it.
    So, much so, I am in confusion
    and at a loss of words.
     
    Beware the Vapors of Lace,
    something so sheer, yet,
    once used to bind
    Sampson himself.
     
    Are all women wound with the
    same chords of bondage?
     
    This one was.
     
    In the throes of intercourse
    with two other women, she
was the absolute Star.
     
    My heart sifts like powder,
    through my loss of her,
    as my desires, flare and
    chaffs like the scrape of lace.
     
    If only she were a really a vapor,
    so I could not remember,
    but my mind is so strong,
    as to what seemed to be our bond.

The sun set on the candle flame
    (And blew it out ...)
    This day.
    In a way,
    where
    I knew it wouldn’t re-light.
     
    No matter how hard I tried,
    the light had expired,
    from the sight of my eyes,
    causing a darkness which
    drew peace of mind, to its
    murky fate.
     
    The smoke from the candle
    would undulate,
    in curly wisps like
    the ghosts of something
    which once held life –
    Now a cold apparitional
    reminder of warmth
    of heart.
     
    The flame had burned bright
    for a while,
    and created a light so
    heavenly and warm
    that it felt like love.
     
    With enough force to
    evenly consume the
    wax
    In a way where the soft
    bubbly puddle, spilled in
    a minute tear down the side.
     
    Now, without a ray of hope,
    it overflowed in a cavalcade
    of sadness.
     
    All the luminescence needed
    was a brightener, that glass
    bell of security,
    to restrict the air completely
    and keep the bouncing flame
    stable it its unity with destiny.
     
    But, fates are usually cruel.
    And, no one really seems
    to miss, the light from a
    tiny insignificant candle –
    as it burns out, in a sea of
    other candles producing
    vision.
     
    Naught though you might
    peer deeper, to feel the focus
    of one tiny story?
     
    As, what this candle felt,
    was its own moment of
glory,
    At its own time of function,
    under the pecan sun.
     
    It had desires like the many,
    and with pride felt its burn atop its
    steeple, while still surrounded
    by people, to keep that flame
    burning bright, even and especially
just for
    one.
     
    But, now it’s gone –
    And the flame has fizzled.
    Does the candle cry, as it’s
    flame dies?
     
    --
    I think you know the answer,
    just from seeing.
     
    Feeling the chill of the lacking
    warmth, a specter now of the soul,
    and nothing but cold by the missing
    love of the gold.
     
    I miss that candle so -
And I’m truly in the dark without it.

 
    Breeze
     
    So welcomed when it’s hot,
    and it goes by so fast –
    That you have to raise
    your arms and close your
    eyes to form an instant
    smile as it travels lovingly
    through.
     
    Soothing against your sweaty
    face, chillingly upon your
    neck and cold against your
    arm pits.
     
    We all welcome the breeze,
    on a hot day of work and
    then, just as it arose
    it flies away.
     
    Draining that humbly
    enjoyable experience
    and plunging us all back
    under the influence of
    the unforgiving sun.
     
    Some inquisitive minds
    like me, often wonder,
    where it went,
    why it came at that
    particular moment –
    And, most importantly,
    what was it all about in
    the first place.
     
    Could I be so lucky –
    to feel such a touch?
    As when it was such
    in need?
     
    It’s no secret,
    to say that we all love
    a good breeze.
     
     
     
    And just like the wind,
    a chance meeting of
    someone such as yourself,
    is just as cherished,
    is just as inspired,
    is just as