counterfeit saints and barefoot dancers

as the snow melts

you open the doorway to onions,

crammed in a pan with cubed steak,

beige dress and apron strings

he saw the wineglass

an ashtray close to full,

he still wondered why she shaved

her pubic hair  into a stripe,

going to piss in the small toilet

a room barely used scented of

kerosene and urinals,

you ok she called

peppermint ice cream tones with

hidden expressions,

scratching beard muttered out a reply

zipped up mind still a conflagration of thought,

i wanted to do an english stew

was your day ok

housewife animated advertising jargon

felt like exploding,

the car would still be warm

engine would start quickly,

murmured almost automatic familiarity

those beech tones just as wooden

full of grain and knots,

fifteen years it was comfortable

not likable settled,

he did not question or ask

just lived as he now did with her,

camus  could of written a diary with  them

in with charlie parker soundtrack,

there was no children

they had not found time,

you could crawl back inside yourself

but that would lead to tears

best left to what was

a grisly fetish

slave and domination

abstract interludes,

snapshots of a smoking buddha

fuck hole sanity,

without that crawling cuckoo

jacket on chair

assembled the winning smile,

she came and kissed

long tongue surrounded his mouth

lips soft journals of praise,

now feeling ok

sat back and spoke as if released

watching her

not knowing her

dverselogo

initials of someone you care about

slow sliding kiss

memory of rain on stones

that walk in essential sun

trees lay down long shadows

in the park

fingers secure fingers interlocked

hand holding hand,

of these trees one

the old oak leaning to the left

bark has seen history

empires rise and fall

carved here not names

initials and a heart,

indelible will survive winter

and the dampness of spring

to the hot vacuum of summer,

long after initials have separated

and departed,

they are there rendered

for another couple to

see