You Are Lapis Lazuli

I was thinking mango colored bruises
are not as sweet as the fruit. Then
I saw you. And my thoughts changed
from fruit to you. And I couldn't resist

the tingle of my lips. So I smiled.

It was the first time I've smiled

on the inside, for quite a while. But when

you didn't notice, and passed me bye,

my chest was hit with a Lapis Lazuli.

And I realized why I haven't smiled.

It's because you

chose to walk the other way. So my

thoughts returned to mango colored bruises,

which are definitely not as sweet as the fruit.

But when I look at one it tickles my lips

and makes me smile, and just for a moment

I want another.

Relationship Disclaimer:

Note: This information is not to be used for commercial purposes.

Warning!

The failure to adhere to the precautions listed below may result in serious injury.

-Keep out of reach of children.

-Keep away from easily encouraged people.

-This is not for people with sensitive skin.

-Direct eye contact should be treated immediately and thoroughly with water.

-Remove oneself immediately, if the situation becomes too uncomfortable or too hot.

-Be aware of the possibility of varying sensations.

-Exposure can lead to tingling in the extremities.

-Too much exposure can lead to scarring, the swelling of the cardiac system, and anemic speech.

*Please do not respond to this message, as it will not be seen, nor read, by a human.

Mail

Dear Mail Room Girl,

I guess I should start with an introduction. My name is Pancake. For months I have seen you around. If I said I saw you a lot, it would be a lie. I only see you a few times a week for brief moments. Usually our interaction lasts less than a minute. A good morning perhaps. Maybe, have a nice day. Not much more than that. I'd like to ask your name, and take you to lunch. Just to get to know you a little bit better. You see, for those brief moments of my week, those few and far between moments, that I see you, they brighten my day.

When I'm preparing for my day just in case you see me, I comb my hair. Just in case we speak, I brush my teeth. But when we do meet, and finally have the chance to speak, I'm usually holding my breath. Not because you stink. Because I'm afraid to speak. You see, for those brief moments of my week, those few and far between moments, that we meet, I feel complete.

In a few months, you see, I'm going on my way. I only have a few more weeks. I probably should just ask you on a date. But every time I look at you, my mind goes blank. All I could say would be something like: you're awfully beautiful today. And I'm afraid you'll take it the wrong way.

I'm not following you around all day. Maybe I pray to see you on more than one day. But I'm not lurking in the shadows. So you see, all I really want is to introduce myself one day. Unfortunately, those moments, those few and fare between moments, are not here to stay.

So Mail Room Girl, to conclude what I've been trying to say. Have a nice day.

Robotics

Good evening, I will say.
Or maybe Hello, how was your day?
Her reply will compute. But
I respectfully remain mute.

I'll grasp the handle of the door,
and open it for her.
My driving is sincere.
My conversation required.
My interactions adequate.

I sure like being in this fancy situation.

A muttered thanks. We embrace.
I depart, and walk to where I parked.
I carry this too close
to my artificial heart.



PLEASE DO NOT RESPOND TO THIS MESSAGE, as it will not be seen nor read by a human.

Coastline

A salty breeze rides hard upon the memories

of painted gulls. Below these birds, on a beach

of driftwood dreams, children play, and their

exotic animals frolic in the waves. On this

beach a single plastic bag, tied by a single

piece of twine, begins to rise, and ride

the thermal currents of the breeze. Higher

and higher it goes, until the piece of twine

lets go. Then the plastic bag, that flew

with painted gulls and was abandoned

by the breeze, falls. Looking back

along the path, beyond the children, wading

in play, I can see a collage of kelp covered

dreams, trickling into the sea, like a ruffled

plastic bag, like a string, like a sun-bleached memory.