Daily Love

5/25/13

2013-05-25T00:00:00.000-07:00

I Worship At Her Rose
By Manuel Berboli

I worship at her rose, drink deeply of her nectar. The altar of her flesh is a welcome sight, draws me in, reminds me what life is supposed to look like, smell like, taste like.

Take these moments and live them well, for so much of the future could yield so little. The hells of your now could be the sweetest paradises compared to the rough roads that come.

Enjoy, live, breathe.

I worship at her rose, and I drink deeply because I know that her nectar will never be sweeter than it is now.

- - -
I love her, completely and fully.

5/24/13

2013-05-24T00:00:00.000-07:00

This Rose
By Biriap Foliujia

This rose drips love from its thorns. This need, spoken of with polite reverence, weakens until the plant is watered, bathed in sweet, eager nectar. The seed is the trigger, the earth parting before the ready root.

Connected, we dream. Eyes smile within eyes as muscles move themselves, hands guiding hands and skin following its own course, growing heavy with sweat. Our stars flare, blossom as we combine, call out, drive one another to sweet release-- and then, the animal is spent. The mind is abandoned to its own ruminations, its own considerations, its own views, goals, ways of knowing the world and those things that color it.

- - -
I write my poems in a journal, then type them and send them to the world.

5/23/13

2013-05-23T00:00:00.000-07:00

This Being
By Mirigold Manovera

Even here, I can smell her sweet perfume-- gingerbread and rain.
Her wings are my wings, her jazz is my jazz.
I taste the soft skin at neck, lips, eyes, forehead, belly, breasts.
I am the beast she worships, the beast who worships her.
There is enough for everyone and want is the furthest thing from my mind.
I have come through the fog.
I am here, alive and rich in every way.
I feel rich.
I feel savory, full, thick with dirt fertile and ready to grow
roses.
I am empowered with a red light that embers hot and indomitable within my chest.
I am amidst more sweat and luxury than ever as I lose myself in her smell, her skin, her breasts,
this being.

- - -
I can feel it, so close.

5/22/13

2013-05-22T00:00:00.000-07:00

How much is that future in the window?
By Anthony J. Langford

He caught her eye
Through the window of her house
Not wishing for a creepy perception
He was drawn nonetheless
Despite setting gaze adrift
Continuing on his stroll.

Many other items of visual significance
Passed him by that day
Yet none mattered
Beyond those few intense seconds.

The crowd
The pavement
The train
The trees
The van that almost hit him
The water down the plughole
His girlfriend’s face.

At 1.17 am
He lay in a fantasy fuelled half-sleep
And smiled as she gave a little wave
Signaling him to the door
He approached
And explained where he was going
Lunchtime exercise
Apologizing for any perceived voyeurism
Which she laughed off
Inviting him in for water
Followed by a quick fuck
Up against the sink.

Her words and actions
Were more real than the
Next morning’s monotone breakfast conversation
With his very real girlfriend
And the train ride to work
Certainly preferable.

He knew he would revisit that street
Hopefully, again and again
As there had been something there
A connection of some kind
More exciting than anything
He could recently remember.

The longest morning all year
Concluded
And he walked
But not in haste
As the timing had to match
The day before.

As he reached the house
Triple confirming his watch
He was amazed
To see the room beyond the window
Empty
He stood, bewildered.
This wasn’t how it was ordered.

Yet, there was movement within
A figure shifted to the window
And his possible future
Played in fast speed
Water, fuck, office
Detach from his girlfriend
Move house
More convenient for work
Sex every lunchtime
Romance of highs to blossom his life.

The figure by the window
Male
Roughly the same age as that woman
With an accompanying frown.

He turned away
And walked as fast as he dared
Only looking back once.

- - -
Anthony J. Langford lives in Sydney Australia. He is a father and step-father. He writes novels, stories, poetry and makes video poems. Some of his recent publications include Ink, Sweat & Tears, Microliterature, bluestem and Red Ochre Lit. He works in television and has made short films, some of which have screened internationally. His novella, Bottomless River is out now through Ginninderra Press. A poetry collection, Caged without Walls will be released in 2013.

5/21/13

2013-05-21T00:00:00.000-07:00

The Shores of Bombay
By Deborah Guzzi

A tear drop of land in a endless sea waits
for just the right footfalls to hide and to rest.
The sun browns their skin, the ocean narrates
and in harsh storm or out, their love coalesces.
They have survived and marooned here they await
forming sand castles at Poseidon's request.
Rolled child-like in sea foam and tossed on the tide
two children of Aphrodite in moonlight bide.

With conch shells as turrets, and driftwood as doors,
and sea glass windows above sandy floors white,
they dine at tables with legs made of oak oars,
eating seaweed salads with veracious delight.
In their castle of sand fair La Mere bore two more
sea urchins divine from their birth each a sprite.
La Mere and her mates remain till this day
in castle of sand near the shores of Bombay.

- - -
First published at the age of sixteen, I have continued to write for the past fifty years. I have published works in the literary journals of Western Connecticut University. I have also published two illustrated volumes of poetry, The Healing Heart and Heaven and Hell In A Nutshell. At the present, I write articles for Massage and Aroma Therapy Magazines.

5/20/13

2013-05-20T00:00:00.000-07:00

The Traveler and the Song Bird
By Michael McLean

"We'll travel the world, my dear." My words were the future, I thought, tellin' my love and I what it holds and where it will take us. They interrupted my thought, "Our adventures will be extravagant: a photo-album in motion, my love, flippin' ceaselessly, as one lookin' for their dog-earred page." She looked startled at my passion, my speed, havin' never seen this side of me before. "We'll traverse the green world, darlin'. Live in a dreamy haze of emerald rivers and green-eyed people greetin' us gladly, guaranteed!" I'm a salesman, presentin' this gem of an offer of our life together that she wouldn't dare pass up! "We'll only dream of normalcy because we'll never see it. It'll struggle to catch us, findin' refuge in our minds only when we stop to sleep, and we think of our past." Which is a mistake to do: we'll sleep when we're old and ugly!

"Will you love me then?" She interrupted. I must've blurted that one out, or not, maybe she'd read my mind. I felt violated and misunderstood, that wasn't what I meant. The left side of her thoughtful face was cupped by her tremblin' hand, while the right held a shadow in place, a stage for its dance.

"Will you love me when these sapphire eyes fall grey?" My love, of course I- "When Time catches me by the skin, tugging and tugging, wrinkling the fine fabric?" The shadow found its mate on the left of her ivory visage, and they waltzed, intertwined and spinning. "Or when the blur of our sprint fades, and we're static? Electric only when our feet touch beneath the wool sheets, not because we meant it, but because you're too goddamn hot?!" The shadow-dance was over, her hands, the curtains, hid the performance as she watered the flowers thrown onto the floor. "We'll travel at the speed of light. Time slows down upon reachin' those speeds, you know. It's been proven!"

My attempt to relieve the tension was in vain. Her hands dropped and she looked at me quizzically: those sky blue balls, life savers, floated in a blood-shot ocean of doubt, and inside of them, an endless blackness that I couldn't make out, nor understood. "What will you do when I'm dead?"

The word hung in the closeness of the room, a noose around the neck of those emerald oceans, greener grasses and future memories inside of the agin', now empty, photo album- "All of your plans, your future, leaving the past in your wake, it all brings us closer to the end. How, my wide-eyed widow-to-be, can one love a corpse?" She interrupted again, readin' my mind, knowin' my thoughts, without the ability to understand her own. I didn't have answers to her questions, to be honest, I didn't think about any of that. I guess it all had to come to a head at some point, for I am a time traveler, and she, a flightless song bird.

- - -

5/19/13

2013-05-19T00:00:00.000-07:00

Ensorcelled All
By Deborah Guzzi

Each sight through the wav’ring flame alight
Note I, your porc’lain skin and braz’n eyes so fair
Siren’s songs stir the depth of hearts beyond repair.
Oh, I cannot waylay the course of my piteous plight.

Rest love, for soon you will arise within this night.
Cruel and damned, we be, by wanton deeds declared
Rising Furies wing our cursed hearts, so ensnared.
Languishing now, forms within the fire un-contrite.

Love, I’ll not rescind my oath nor Him provoke.
End I here, beside your sleeping form, our bed a pyre.
Death a guest, as curtains catch and flames are stroked.
And on we’ll go, bold, to Holy Hell within the fire.
Lay, a martyred Queen with her Knight, they ne’er awoke.
Lost, was she when her vows to King, she did revoke.

- - -
First published at the age of sixteen, I have continued to write for the past fifty years. I have published works in the literary journals of Western Connecticut University. I have also published two illustrated volumes of poetry, The Healing Heart and Heaven and Hell In A Nutshell. At the present, I write articles for Massage and Aroma Therapy Magazines.

5/18/13

2013-05-18T00:00:00.000-07:00

Stars, Starts
By Shawn Wunjo

Late night searching. An eternity of waiting.
Will she? Won't she?
The kiss of a stranger lingering phantom on aching lips.
Transgressions never breathed, never committed except in painful dreams of hairy chests, late night dances, too much booze in the colorful lights, regrets over parted hands.
The ache is strong at the center, the need reigned in only by fear, illusory experiences, the knowledge-memories of others.
Bodies meeting in the night take deeply, but too quickly.
The remains are black and white, petals fallen from the full rose.
It is not the winter's fault-- blame it on the sun, the moon, the long, lonely nights filled with ink and passion and the endless flat ocean of eyes and minds content and conditioned to ignore, to move past without giving even the barest thought,
for they have none left to give.
This is not love, but love is not here.
Love is the smile in the doorway, the hands at night, the baths, the shared secrets, the slow commission of lust like murder, essence given freely, drained into the open valley, the cauldron of creation, milky way so full, so full of stars, starts.

- - -
Shawn Wunjo is the author of a number of banned books.

5/17/13

2013-05-17T00:00:00.000-07:00

Seven Minutes
By Dan Slaten

James put his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet distractedly. The sign said it would be seven more minutes until the blue line showed up to take him to the airport and out of D.C. Couldn’t the train get here a little quicker, though? Didn’t it know how ready he was to get out of this city for the final time?
Seven minutes. Make it six.
James looked around at the sparse crowd on this side of the tracks. They were a mix of young and old, short and tall, well-dressed and not-so-well-dressed. There weren’t many people waiting over here, and they were a quiet bunch. These were all people who had business elsewhere.
The gathering on the other side of the tracks, however, was a different story altogether. Instead of leaving the city they were going into the heart of it. There were more of them, and they were a more upbeat, lively group.
James looked back at the sign. Six minutes. Make it five.
A young woman stood by herself on the other side of the tracks. James spotted her out of the corner of his eyes at first, and something, probably her long blond hair, drew his attention. His brief glance turned into more of a brief stare. She was beautiful. The brief stare turned into more of a prolonged stare.
Five minutes. Make it four.
The girl had on a blue sweater and khaki pants. Maybe she wasn’t as pretty up close, James thought. Maybe it was just the blond hair and the impact distance had on his vision. He’d studied anthropology in college and remembered learning about a species of monkeys with colorful butts. They would sit up in trees and the color would attract potential mates. The color of their butts. Surely a brightly colored butt didn’t translate into an overall attractive mate did it? Wasn’t blond hair or a blue sweater really the same thing, just colors crying out for attention in the dark?
Four minutes. Make it three.
The shriek and rumble that signaled an incoming train erupted and echoed around them. James looked up. It wasn’t his train arriving. It was hers. The train slowed, the shrieking brakes shrieked even louder, and the train across the tracks came to a stop.
Three minutes. Make it two.
It wasn’t easy, but James tracked the young woman as she moved to the nearest door and stepped onto the train that would take her out of his life forever. She looked around for a seat but it was a crowded train and there weren’t any empty seats to be found. She moved close to the window and grabbed the railing there.
Two minutes. Make it one.
James wondered what her name was and where she was going. Was it work, or was she off to see her boyfriend or husband? He was too far away to tell if she had a ring on her finger. He wanted to imagine that her fingers were ringless and she was off to work somewhere. But where? Or maybe it was school. Would that train take you to a college somewhere in D.C.?
One minute. Make it . . .
The young woman looked up, and James swore that she was looking straight at him. He heard the shriek and rumble that signaled the imminent arrival of the blue line that would take him out of D.C. The young woman smiled, and he smiled back.
The blue line was here now, passing between their stares. James lost her. He saw the blur of the train in front of him coming to a stop. The doors opened, and when he stepped in the train across the tracks was already gone, taking the young woman out of his life forever.
Why did the train have to get here on time? Why did her train have to get there on time? Couldn’t they have just had one more minute?
The doors shut behind James, and when they did, he closed the door on his thoughts about the young woman. No point in wondering what might have been, he thought. On to the airport.

- - -
Dan Slaten works by day and writes by night. His stories have occasionally appeared in small press publications since the late 90s. He has never fallen in love, even briefly, with anyone he has ever met on a subway.

5/16/13

2013-05-16T00:00:00.000-07:00

Thunder, Lightning And Tigers
By Paul Tristram

It was the worst thunder and lightning
storm that I had ever seen,
the sky was ripped apart and alive.
Your eyes smiled as you watched nervously
then suddenly leapt sideways into my arms.
I felt you closer than any tattoo.
My love for you screamed out in sirens.
I felt as protective as a mother.
My aura was a gladiator,
now, all I needed was the tigers.

- - -
Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories and sketches published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight, this too may pass, yet.

5/15/13

2013-05-15T00:00:00.000-07:00

Roomie Love
By Jennifer Pauk

“Wow! You look hot!!” Cassie exclaimed with her eyes locked on her friend.

“Thanks!” Rebecca said as she spun around just outside the dressing room, “Do you think Nate will like it?”

Cassie rolled her eyes, “I’m sure I don’t know what Nate would like.”

“Why don’t you like Nate?” Rebecca snapped.

“It’s not that I don’t like Nate. It’s just—“

“You don’t like us together?!” Rebecca accused angrily. She stormed back into the dressing room before Cassie could reply.

Rebecca was tall and thin, too clumsy for any athletics, but she was an avid shopper. Cassie was a blond, almost as tall as Rebecca, still skinny, but she had the muscled body of an athlete.

Even though they had gone to the same high school, they hadn’t really been friends until they decided to room together the second semester of their freshman year in college. Here it was the middle of their sophomore year and they were inseparable, except when it came to Rebecca’s boyfriend of almost a year, Nate.

Cassie sighed and walked over to Rebecca’s closed dressing room door. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s not that I don’t like Nate, I just care about you,” Cassie said softly, then she added, “And you look great. God! You have great legs.”

Rebecca laughed from inside the dressing room, “Thanks. I guess you are forgiven.”

“Good because we have one more stop to make.”

Rebecca stuffed her many bags into the backseat and then got into Cassie’s car. Cassie weaved through the downtown area, which wasn’t that busy for a Saturday afternoon. Cassie looked over at Rebecca, who was just relaxing, her head leaned back against the seat, her eyes closed, humming to the music on the radio. Cassie just stared at her for a second and almost ran a red light.

“You trying to get me killed?” Rebecca joked as someone laid on the horn to get Cassie’s attention.

“Oh, shut up,” Cassie replied, but she couldn’t help but smile at Rebecca’s teasing grin. She turned right and pulled into a parking spot. “We are here,” she said pointing to a bookstore.

“You brought me to a bookstore! I knew you were my best friend!! Ha, maybe I should date you instead of Nate,” she joked, “He never takes me to bookstores because I spend hours in them and he is always so impatient.”

“I know, that’s why I brought you,” Cassie said with a smile. Then she added, “When will you learn, I am way better than Nate.”

Rebecca was too busy being excited to hear. She yelled, “Oh! You are the best friend ever!”

“Go in there and buy some books before I change my mind and drive us away from here,” Cassie replied still grinning broadly and looking at her friend adoringly.

~~~~~~~~

“So, Nate and I are going out on Saturday night and Matt has been bugging him about you, so I think we should double,” Rebecca suggested tentatively.

“You know I don’t like Matt,” Cassie said emphatically, “I don’t see why you keep trying to set me up with all these guys. It never works out.”

That statement was very true, Cassie had been through several boys, but none of them ever stuck. Maybe it was because she was so outgoing and unique that she scared them off, but usually it seemed like she just lost interest, no one could hold her attention.

“Please, just try it for me,” Rebecca pleaded.

Cassie looked over into the puppy dog eyes of her best friend, and sighing heavily she relented, “Alright, fine, but you owe me for this.”

“Definitely!” Rebecca agreed.

~~~~~~~~

“Sorry things didn’t go well with Matt,” Rebecca said.

“No big deal,” Cassie said brushing it off, “I didn’t have high hopes anyway.”

“Well, if you are sure you’re ok, I’m going to go spend the night at Nate’s,” Rebecca said slowly watching for Cassie’s reaction.

Cassie didn’t meet her eye as she said, “That’s fine. You two have fun.”

Rebecca hugged Cassie tightly before she left and said reassuringly, “Don’t worry you will find the right guy. I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.”

Cassie nodded and watched her leave the room. After Rebecca was gone, she pulled out a picture that included Nate, Rebecca, and herself. She ripped off a third of the picture and let Nate’s figure fall to the floor. Her gaze never left the other two-thirds of the image as she whispered, “I love you, too.”

- - -
I am a Freshman at the University of Northern Iowa. I love reading and writing about pretty much anything.

5/14/13

2013-05-14T00:00:00.000-07:00

Union
By Perry M. Smalls

This caress changes the flow of time, pauses and slows and sweetens the savoring of nerves, skin and deep-breathing need satisfied. This caress connects, brings hands together, brings eyes together, brings realities together in connection, creates truth, as we are images of godhood, perfect. Apart, we are broken, draw sweetness only from the joining of soul, smile, skin and love, but parting reminds us of the preciousness of union. Parting is a terror, a pain, perhaps necessary to provide us with a way, a means to truly know, deeply and completely, the value of what we have in connection, in union, in shared sweetness, total love without games or borders.

- - -

3/13/13

2013-05-13T00:00:00.000-07:00

Can We But Rest, My Love?
By Amanda Firefox

When I am without you, it feels as if some grand key to a locked universe of color has fallen away, hid itself in dust clouds and detritus. Fingers work, attempt to tie the strings of laser light together to formulate a stretching, multi-dimensional web of code, equations, theories.

If I could pull them together, if I could bring words and sounds and calculations together from moving points in unfolding time, perhaps I could understand this, understand our future, pull little tones and triggers here and there until the alignment of perfect and now arranges into something linear, easier to see.

The pain has no name, no source, no purpose save to remind me of what could go wrong, save perhaps to ruin what small sweetness I've received in the form of our love. In the end, I seek only to be happy, to be your strength, your source, your fountain of joy. In the end, I seek only our sweet rest beyond the reach of a hell that we've sacrificed so much to stay ahead of. Can we but rest, my love? Just for a moment, love? Can we but sleep and be alone, take our candle-lit baths and spend hours silently reading together? Can we spend the rest of our lives without having to say goodbye? Without having to watch the leaving back cross through the door and into the night again, again, again?

- - -
Amanda Firefox is a fiery little brunette who spends as much time at the beach as she can manage. She doesn't write much, but when she writes, it's almost always about her favorite subject: boys.

5/12/13

2013-05-12T00:00:00.000-07:00

Impermanence
By Three Wolves

We sit together, she and I. We sit together, and the high sun is our guardian. We sit together, until time parts us, and then I sit here, together with only the memories, while the moon is our guardian.

After a while, there are no tears, but the birth of each new state of being is wet, desperate, full of wailing. Screaming does not change reality. The wall of lessons moves not as we will it.

Breathe the tears. Give time for the release. New purpose and new joys always come. Impermanence teaches us the value of the now. The future is the future's problem-- forever.

- - -
Three Wolves is a spiritual teacher and the author of Liber Luminopticon. His works, including the upcoming book Liber Velum Voces, can be found on his website: www.luminopticon.com

5/11/13

2013-05-11T00:00:00.000-07:00

Blossoms, Upon The Hill
By E.S. Wynn

Sprouted wonder blossoms upon the distant hill. I see colors in the waving, set against joyous, warm blue. The form is there, corporeal, and as it turns, the colors turn with it, reveal.

Light spreads new, widening, deliverance of awareness, the ungentle elegance of metal and ringing sound, of teeth set in smiles fierce, hands clutching, pulling, taking what both howling animals need.

The sweat, the welcoming, the exchange, the collapse.

Sprouted wonder blossoms wave. Sky darkens. Need manifests in the coming season. No regrets.

- - -
E.S. Wynn is the author of over forty books.

5/10/13

2013-05-10T00:00:00.000-07:00

The Right Decision
By John Laneri

Friday afternoons at the office are occasionally slow, so I often slip away and disappear early.

“What's the big hurry?” Maxine asked, when she spotted me making my usual exit.

“It's almost five o'clock, time for a couple of martinis.”

She smiled pleasantly. “Why does happy hour seem to be your most productive time of the week?”

Laughing, I replied, “It just is ... care to join me?”

She placed a stack of papers aside saying, “Give me five minutes.”

Maxine was an attractive woman in her early thirties. She was smart, capable and the most stylish woman I had ever known. She was also a great travel agent, as well as my ex-wife.

In truth, we were good at being friends, but terrible at being married. Actually we'd tried living together a couple of times before giving up and going in separate directions.

The first time around, her attorney dropped the ball, a move that forced her to look for a higher paying job. In an effort to help her pay the bills, I suggested a three month trial as an office assistant. If things worked out, I agreed to let her stay on as a full time travel consultant. After all, she was my ex-wife.

Eventually, she settled in and began making money. A short time later, we became friends again, and after a few months, we were married for the second time.

During our last divorce however, her attorney became more demanding, forcing me to designate her as my office manager as well as hand over twenty-five percent of the business. Despite the setback, I have to say, she knew how to attract clients and manage an office.

“Are you ready?” she asked, as she offered me a beguiling smile.

“Why so smiley? Are you expecting me to pay for your drinks?”

“You always do,” she replied, as she took my arm. “Wait a minute. I almost forgot.”

She grabbed a memo off her desk then turned to me.

“What's that in your hand?”

“Another offer from a cruise line inviting you and a friend to enjoy a fun-filled, Caribbean adventure.” She handed me the note. “If you take me as your friend, I promise to make it worth your while.”

“Have you considered the fact that I might have someone else in mind? After all, I am a free man.”

“Who do you know that can hustle business like I do?”

“I know lots of people eager to learn the trade.”

She frowned and started for the door. “Keep me in mind. I'm a good travel companion, my manners are impeccable, and I would appreciate a few more benefits to justify my twenty-five percent.”

We started out at the Top Score, a sports bar near the office. It's a place that's famous for good appetizers and great steaks. I ordered a martini on the rocks. Maxine settled for her usual white wine.

While I was watching the golf channel, she said, “I've been thinking about that cruise offer. We should go together.”

“I can't... too many pressing matters.”

She touched my hand. “I can think of two reasons why we need to go. One, it's been a slow year due to the unemployment situation. We need to attract more business. And two, I'd like to work on my suntan. At one time, you thought my body was wonderful, especially when it carried a healthy glow.”

“Maybe, I liked your body for other reasons.”

She blushed faintly and pointed toward the television. “Who's winning?”

“I don't have a clue. You keep distracting me.”

She remained quiet for several minutes then looked around. “Care for an appetizer plate?”

“Sounds good,” I replied, as I reached for my drink.

Sometime later while I was working an olive, I suddenly realized that she had slipped off a shoe and was in the process of easing her foot up my pants leg.

“Stop that... I told you, we're not taking a cruise together!”

“You need to open up and have more fun,” she replied, as she took a deep breath then whimsically looked off into the distance. “Maybe, I still love you. I feel so alive when we're together. ”

“I remember your telling me that you felt dead when we're married.”

She quickly removed the foot. “I didn't say dead, as in doornail. It was more like, not as happy as usual.”

Later, after dinner and a bottle of wine, I followed her home. She invited me in for coffee. And before long, we were pulling off clothes eager to satisfy a sudden attraction to each other.

The following morning we awoke together.

She snuggled close whispering, “I don't remember your making love like that when we were married.”

“And, I don't remember you having that many orgasms. Now, if you'll move your leg, I'd like to take a shower while your afterglow mellows out.”

While I was relaxing under a stream of warm water, Maxine stepped into the bathroom and began brushing her hair. She soon asked, “Would you like me to scrub your back?”

Before I could say no, we were showering together and again exploiting those same passions that seemed to be the trademark of our relationship.

Afterward, I dressed and headed home, thankful that I had a whole weekend to rest.

A month later, we were cruising the Caribbean, enjoying our third honeymoon. On returning home, we ended the twenty-five percent arrangement and settled on a fifty-fifty relationship, a move that gave us a honest chance of living a normal life together.

So essentially, that's how we ended up in number three, the present marriage. It's the one that took us into a thriving business, a great relationship, and most of all – a mutual satisfaction in knowing that we had finally made the right decision.

- - -
John is a native born Texan living near Houston. His writing focuses on short stories and flash. Publications to his credit have appeared in several scientific journals as well as a number of internet sites and short story periodicals.

5/9/13

2013-05-09T00:00:00.000-07:00

An Apology
By Curtis Moore

I should have known your heart was too kind
To bear the weight and awful grating
Of a heart that's broken, crippled, and self-hating.
That the rivers running muddy in my mind
Were far too dangerous and cold
To allow me to ever hold
A course as straight as the one you steered.

I saw the dangers looming in our path and knew
I would not have the courage to go onward.
I knew myself, knew I was a coward.
And yet I went onward, knowing I would fail you.
Each step brought us closer to the death
Of us, that waited there with fetid breath,
And which I knew I did not have the heart to face.

- - -
I’m a joint law/master’s in dispute resolution student at the University of Oregon. I live with my wife, dog, and horses in Eugene. I write poems when I can, this is my first submission to a magazine.

5/8/13

2013-05-08T00:00:00.000-07:00

Hollywood Wedding
By Joe Malone

"Let's get married," Ted said to Mary.

The couple was sitting by their pool on a summer evening. Hollywood stretched out below them, its lights beginning to glitter as the last of the sunset faded and the sky overhead turned from purple to black.

"Wow. A proposal," Mary said, toasting Ted with her martini glass.

Cecil B. strolled by.

"That cat is getting fat," Ted said.

"I think Mrs. Welles next door is feeding him. So you want to get married? It ain't broke, you know."

"Sometimes it's fun to tweak something, even if it ain't broke. We've been shooting a wedding in that church they use in Pasadena. It put me in the mood."

"Does the couple live happily ever after?"

"The wife gets killed right after the ceremony. But still."

"I could be interested," Mary said.

They sipped their drinks, gazing into the depths of the pool, azure in the dusk. The tile mosaic seahorse at the bottom moved in a languid way, as the pool water circulated though the pool filter.

"I suppose we'll need a pre-nup," Mary said.

"You can't ever forget the pre-nup," Ted said. "If my folks taught me anything, it was to remember the pre-nup."

"I'll call Sid in the morning."

"I'll call Saul."

"Then what do we do?"

"I think we swing by a County office and pay a fee and pick up a license."

Mary signaled Brigitte to bring out another chilled pitcher of drinks.

"Please bring my laptop too, Brigitte" she said.

A towhee closed the day with measured chirps in the hedge, announcing the sunset's completion as surely as a night rooster.

"We can apply for a license online," Mary said, studying her laptop with a fresh drink in her hand. "Then we have to go together to pick it up at one of the County branches... There's one on Burton in Beverly Hills. I'm shooting in Santa Monica tomorrow and you'll be in Pasadena. Let's meet halfway."

"Do they still want a blood test?"

"Apparently not... There's something called the Name Equality Act, but we won't be changing our names, so we don't need to worry about that. I'll fill out the application right now and then we'll go down tomorrow, show them our driver's licenses, and pay them ninety dollars."

"Wow, it costs to get married these days."

"Ninety for a public license, eight-five for a confidential license. That's for when everybody thinks the two of you are already married... Do you want a wedding?" Mary said. "I don't care. It says here you can arrange for a civil ceremony when you pick up the license. Otherwise, you have your own ceremony, get the pastor's name on the license, and mail it back in. You've got ninety days."

With the light gone from the sky, the blue illumination in the pool grew stronger. The circulating water cast restless, rippling light and shadow in the trees overhead. Cecil B. meowed at the sliding screen door and Brigitte let him in.

"We ought to throw a little party or something, don't you think?" Ted said. "At least? Have your sister and my brother over, and your folks. Some friends. Get Emilio to cater it. Or we could just tie the knot right there at the County building."

"No, let's have the party. Father Bruno can marry us. He's consulting on our shoot and he's a darling."

"What did you and Fred do for a ceremony?" Ted said.

"We were never actually married. People just assumed."

"Jane and I made it clear we weren't married, from the start," Ted said. "We didn't want any confusion about that. We explained everything to her kids so they wouldn't ever expect me to be some sort of dad to them."

"OK. I'm filling out the application here. Hmm. Your mom and dad's full names and the state each was born in?"

Ted told her.

"This is so simple," Mary said. "Boom. It's done. We have fifteen days to go down, show our IDs, pay the fee, and collect our license. Then we say I do when the padre asks us, a witness signs the license, the padre signs it and mails it in, and we're married."

"Woo hoo," Ted said, and they toasted each other a second time.

They met at the Beverly Hills Courthouse the following afternoon. They both parked on the curb along Civic Center Drive. In minutes they were done at the County Clerk's counter and stood together out on the wide grass meridian in front of the building, holding hands and shaking their heads in mild amazement at what they had done. Ted followed Mary over to Mariposa on Wilshire for a late lunch. They discussed their honeymoon while they dined. Because they were both working on pictures, they settled on a quick trip to Palm Springs, where they would stay at the Zoso or Parker or Viceroy.

The following day, Ted picked up a pair of wedding rings at Harry Winston on Rodeo and Mary splurged on a modest Judy Lee for the ceremony.

"It's about time," Mary's mother said to her over the phone. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Mary said. "Ted was at a shoot that was filming a wedding. It struck a chord, I guess. All of a sudden, it just seemed right to us. When we got the license, he had a great big smile."

"Has the subject of children come up in the conversation? Can I hope to ever be a grandmother?"

"Not yet," Mary said, "but it could happen as quickly as this wedding has. Who knows?"

"He did OK with his girlfriend's kids the last time around, didn't he?"

"They loved him. He shied away from being a dad, though. But that was a long time ago."

Her mother took all this as a good sign, and was satisfied.

Ted and Mary made the wedding arrangements together, treating the event mostly as a casual party by their pool. The pre-nup was in place. In addition, everything Mary and Tom owned belonged, without question, in a legally defensible way, solely to one or the other of them, in spite of the fact that they had lived together in total devotion for a decade. Money, property, and the future never created issues for Ted and Mary. Their sole point of connection and intimacy to date was their relationship - their love and respect for each other.

On the appointed day, the guests arrived - Mary's parents and sister, Ted's brother, a variety of aunts and uncles and cousins and friends in the business. Everyone kept to the shade of the trees and the tables with umbrellas around the pool. Emilio set up the buffet and bar at the edge of the back lawn, out of the sun.

The sky was cloudless and the day was quiet. A thrasher called from the scrub on the hillside. Mary's uncle got ready to record the ceremony on his iPhone. Standing in the shade of an oak, Father Bruno held forth for a bit and then asked the couple if they did in fact agree to take each other in sickness and in health, and so on, for the rest of their natural lives.

Mary responded in the affirmative without delay. Ted hesitated.

"Sorry to be a pain," he said, "but I just want to be clear. When are we actually married? When I say I do? When the padre signs our license? Or when the County records the license after we return it?"

"In the eyes of God," said Father Bruno, "after you both say yes, you're married."

"Sure, but I mean, in the eyes of California."

"The same, I believe," said the padre. "Although to eliminate any doubt, I'll sign the license as soon as you say yes, or at least nod your head. Who's the witness here?"

Mary's sister was the witness, although she said she wouldn't do it if Ted was going to be a jerk about it. She had had a yen for Ted for years, so she was looking a little hangdog in the first place.

"Let's back up and do another take," Mary said. "You don't mind, do you, Father?"

"Used to it," Father Bruno said with a smile.

"Uncle Bob," Mary said, "would you move around and shoot on my good side? Thanks."

Father Bruno just summarized his thoughts the second time around, and got to the crucial question a lot quicker. The attention of several of the relatives had strayed in the direction of the portable bar waiting under an acacia beyond the roses. A young man stood behind the bar in white shirt and black tie, ready to serve the guests whatever they ordered. Mary again said yes and Ted again hesitated.

"What's the problem?" Mary said.

"It just seems like... How can me saying one little word now, or even just nodding, do the trick? It's a big step. What if I say yes and then instantly regret it? Padre, will you still sign the paper if I change my mind before you get your pen to the paper?"

"I ought to," Father Bruno said. "You'll be married once you agree. I'd feel bad, not signing it."

"What if you sign it and don't send it in?"

"California doesn't care so much whether you send it in or not," Mary said. "I asked at the courthouse. If they don't receive the completed license in ninety days, you get a computer-generated reminder. If the license gets lost in the mail or you don't bother returning it, there's a statement or affidavit or something you can sign later on. Basically, when you say yes, you're married."

"That's so old-fashioned," Ted said. "I could say I didn't really mean it. I could say I didn't really nod, it was just a muscle twitch. A mosquito bit me and I jerked."

"Let me remind you," Mary said, "that for us, you and I, it'll be as easy to get a divorce as it was to get married, if we ever decide we want one. If you change your mind after you say yes, we'll call Sid and Saul and they'll move us back to square one in no time."

Ted stood thinking.

"Don't do it," said Mary's sister to him.

"Give it up," Mary said to her. "He likes you. He doesn't love you. Settle for that."

She turned to Ted.

"Honey, it's OK," she said. "If you're not comfortable with this, we can drop it. It's no big deal. If you change your mind back, we can have another party. Is that all right with you folks?"

Everyone agreed that they'd be happy to come back for another attempt. Emilio's catering alone made the trip worth it. Perhaps everyone would bring their swimsuits next time.

"You don't care if we stop now?" Ted said.

"I care, but I care about you more," Mary said.

"Nah...," Ted said. "Nah, it's OK. Let's do this. Do you mind another repeat, Padre?"

"Not at all," said Father Bruno.

"Can somebody lend me their phone?" Mary's uncle said. "I'm out of memory here."

Once the uncle was in place and recording with a borrowed phone, Father Bruno repeated his admonitions to the couple. Sensing that this would be the final take, he allowed himself to expand on his original thoughts a bit. When Ted's moment came, he said yes in a strong voice. The couple exchanged rings.

"Feel any different?" Mary said.

"I feel good," Ted said. "I feel very good. What about you?"

"I feel good, too," Mary said.

The guests clapped, shook hands with the bride and groom, gave hugs, and headed over to the bar and buffet. Emilio sent out the table workers and they began uncovering the food.

Later, the couple took off for Palm Springs. Everyone cheered as they drove away from the house.

- - -
Joe Malone lives in Southern Sudan in a hut with a Woro woman and her two sisters. He reads and writes. They don't.

5/7/13

2013-05-07T00:00:00.000-07:00

The Sweetest Alarm Call
By Paul Tristram

I tried frowning your kisses away.
Twitched as you touched the side of my nose.
Groaned ‘mmmmmm’ which sounded like a moan slipping
slowly backwards into water.

Yawned king size and broke my fast upon the mask of breath
that you had just laid upon me.

You chuckled, I arose onto one side
and opened my eyes, smiling widely
like an eighteen month old baby being tickled.
Good morning sweetheart.

- - -
Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories and sketches published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight, this too may pass, yet.

5/6/13

2013-05-06T00:00:00.000-07:00

Blood Drive
By Aeia Abas

I caught a glimpse of you
A few chairs down
nervously waiting
For the nurse in scrubs.

You scrunched your face and
Closed your eyes
as the needle struck,
How your chest rose then fell;

I couldn't look away.
Past the red wires,
You stunned me.
You made fear look like bravery.

I thought of the girl
That would be rushed to the ER
Getting part of you
Infusing her very veins.

And it sickens me.
How she'll never know
Anything about you,
Yet have everything from you.

Not your million dimples,
Or your big ears,
Or the heat of your neck
When I've held you long enough,

Not the smell of cologne
Faint on your skin,
Or the hum you make
When you think too much,

Or the feeling of looking
Straight into your eyes
And how it's just like
Waking up to an orange sunrise.

You've given her a heart beat.
But you've given me mine
Long before that needle
Ever touched your skin.

- - -
Aeia Abas, wherever she may be, commits to a life of spontaneity with her pen and forever unfilled cup. She writes for her own well-being, though happy to inspire. She can be contacted at aeiaabas@gmail.com.

5/5/13

2013-05-05T00:00:00.000-07:00

SOMETHING TELLS ME
By Stacy Maddox

Something inside tells me
I'd better get used to being alone again
I heard it in your voice
Just the other day
Something in the way you are acting
Is breaking my heart
Because I don't know
How you are feeling
Something in your eyes
Makes me sad to see
What's happening to us
And I don't understand why
Something in what you said
Shattered all of my hopes
For it wasn't what
I wanted you to say
Something strange in the air
Makes me wonder
If you just got too close
Because I know I did
Something is standing
Between you and me
And, 'I love you'
Isn't heard as much anymore
Something in the way I am missing you
Is surely telling me
You're starting to walk away
From all of our dreams.

- - -
Stacy Maddox lives, dreams and writes in the fast-paced city of Lawrence, KS. She loves to soak up the sun by the river and feel the rush of water over her feet while spending time with her family and pets. Stacy has been published in Long Story Short, ken*again, Leaves Of Ink, The Entroper, Emerge Literary Journal, Three Line Poetry, The Fat City Review, Eskimo Pie, Mused: The BellaOnline Literary Review, Euphemism and more. She has been passionate about art in any form for over 30 years.

5/4/13

2013-05-04T00:00:00.000-07:00

One more chance
By Rocky Teh

He’d walked the tightrope one too many times.

One too many suspicious nights out, one too many scents on his shirt he shouldn’t have had, one too many text messages she shouldn’t have seen. A small place like that, whisperings and rumors soon began to build up. Rumors she simply could not ignore.

The way it was going, putting pen to the divorce papers was the only humane way out in the same way that the only humane way out for a mad quadriplegic was a mercy drink of almond tea.

Two whole years she disappeared from his life. His business grew in that time, which only served to alienate the two of them even more. The pretty young things, young enough to be the charges he babysat in high school, came and went.

Mostly went. His love life had the consistency of water and soon enough, he found himself wanting her back.

He’d come into the office, his mind on the furthest things away from her. Files were opened, pens were clicked. There was a business trip to Bandar Aceh that he had to worry about. A Malaysian client was-
‘She’s leaving today,’ Will said. ‘Going back to the main island.’
‘Who?’
‘Why, Melanie, of course. She said she wanted to meet you.’
‘Don’t pull this crap now, Will. We’ve got more important-‘ God, you’re an idiot. You’ve been telling yourself you didn’t care.
‘I met her at the taxi stand today. She told me in person.’
Silence. The writing stopped.
‘Last chance, Gary’, they’d reminded him. ‘Last chance-’
He was out the door even before Will could even say ‘Just pulling your leg, mate’. The island wasn’t very big nor very developed – after all an airport was – but it was still big enough for travelling from one end to another to take precious time. Several times along the way he’d nearly given up. ‘Ah, forget about her, mate’ he told himself. ‘You’ll find another one…’

His determination flickered like a candle. Flickered it did, but go out it did not. There was something about her, though Gary had no idea what the hell that was. Was it her infectious little laugh? Her deep brown eyes – burnt little caramels which glistened every time he’d done something stupid? Her... and then Gary realized. It was not a single quality about her that he still wanted, but all her qualities in its entirety.

With a singular ferocity he gripped the bus pole, threatening to strangle it, more determined than ever that he would get her back.
He burst out of the bus like a bird freed from its cage. Slamming into an old woman, his 200 pound frame was nearly enough to topple her over. Yet he sprinted onwards, ignoring the bemoaning of the youth of today that began to burble out of her mouth.

He leaned forward as he ran, canvas All Stars thudding heavily on the pavement. Looking up at the buildings he passed forced a sigh out of him. ‘At least another half mile’, he thought, realizing only just then that he had alighted at the wrong stop.

Wheezing like an asthmatic, Gary skidded to a halt. His piercing blue eyes did a quick scan of the distance he had covered He tried to debate with himself. Should he…
No
No time.
You can do it, Gary.
And at that, he took off once again, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with a cyclist. It was then that he had a brain wave. A stroke of genius. Why, of course. No one around here had the habit of locking their bikes.

The speed at which it was executed was amazing. He’d thrown himself onto it with such vigor that he was afraid, for a heart stopping moment, that it would break. Miraculously, though, it did not, and he pedaled away. Soon enough he could hear the whirring of the rubbers on the tarmac, and he smiled. The sound of speed. The sound of progress.

To his utter delight he could smell the sea. Hear it, even. Or so he thought. But a man needs little to encourage himself in times of desperation. Throwing what little caution remained into the breeze, he willed his legs – their muscles a result of years on the rugby field – into attacking the pedals with greater velocity. Throwing himself backwards, he let the suspension work its magic as he cut across the main road. Cars honked, some screeched, many swore, but he could not have cared less. Allowing himself a glimpse of the traffic, however, he gritted his teeth. So many cars and not a single bloody taxi. A taxi which would have saved him his strength, sweat and much more.

Skidding through the gates of the jetty he threw his body from the bike, and shot through the revolving doors. Frantically, he tried to locate the schedule.
“Departs at five p.m sharp…”
“Ladies and gentlemen… this is the last call…”
“…Gate two… Gate two…”
The clock next to the schedule informed him that it was now four forty-nine in the afternoon. On a day like this, it was all the provocation he needed. In an extraordinary stroke of luck, he found himself to be little more than fifty yards from gate two. Dripping with sweat, he swept the sticky mop of hair that curtained his eyes. And saw her immediately, just as she was about to hand her ticket to the fat bloke behind the counter.
“Mel!” He roared, surprised at the decibels he was capable of producing – given that he had been panting and wheezing just seconds earlier.
The entire jetty froze.
Happily, so did she.

- - -
16, writes when inspired, sleeps when not.

5/3/13

2013-05-03T00:00:00.000-07:00

In Her Own Spirited Way
By John Laneri

Moments after walking into the Ritz, I spotted Dominique seated at a table with a group of people, all of whom seemed to be enjoying themselves.

From what I could see, she appeared just as beautiful as I remembered. Only this time rather than a diamond about her neck, I noticed a emerald necklace in its place. As best I could tell, it appeared to be an exquisite piece, featuring a series of stones that blended perfectly with her Parisian flair.

At the time, I was in Paris on business, staying at the same hotel where she and I had once indulged in an explosive two day weekend.

Back then, I actually thought that I had met someone special until I later learned that she had exploited our relationship and used me to unknowingly transport a cache of diamonds through customs at New York Kennedy.

Fortunately, I survived the ordeal with only a battered ego.

Finally, after waiting a few minutes, I noticed her move away from the table.

Approaching her, I said, “Dominique.”

She turned about, her features registering a brief moment of recognition before saying, “Oui Monsieur?”

Certain she recognized me, I continued, “It's been a long time.”

“And, you are?” she asked.

“You know who I am.”

“Perhaps, you're mistaking me for another person.”

Determined, I pressed on. “I've wondered if we'd ever meet again.”

She started to take a step away then stopped and turned to me. “It would be best to forget we ever happened.”

“True... but we did happen.”

She took another step then again stopped, her green eyes directed to mine. “I shouldn't have used you like I did.”

“No... you shouldn't have.”

Moments later, she hurried to me and threw her arms about my neck. “I've missed you so very much. Please forgive me,” she said, as her lips eagerly sought mine.

Before long, we were seated in a quiet place, unsure as to why our attraction remained so intense. Once the wine arrived, we spent the next hour talking about anything and everything.

Eventually, I asked, “Do you still work for your uncle?”

“I continue to oversee many of his business interests. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.”

She reached for her wine and took a small sip. “Please believe me when I say, he forced me to use you as a favor to him. After all, I am a member of his family.”

“Do you still smuggle precious stones for him?”

Surprised by my directness, she replied, “Never... You were the one and only time. He was in a bind, and he threatened me.”

“You do understand that I could have been imprisoned.”

She touched my hand, letting her fingers intertwine mine. “He manipulated me too... he always does. It's his way. What I did was awful, but saying I'm sorry is not enough. How can I make it up to you?”

“By answering an honest question about us.”

She again reached for her wine, letting the glass linger near her lips. “I take it that you want to know why we have such an intense attraction to one another.”

“That would be a good start. We seem to experience something very special whenever we're together.”

“To me, our feelings are real and the intensity almost frightening. Perhaps, we should move slowly.”

She did have a point, so I reached for a menu and changed the subject.

After dinner, we explored the streets of Paris, stopping at various places where we immersed ourselves in fine wines and colorful people. At one point, I even bought her a simple gold necklace at a small shop.

Later that night, we came together like never before. The experience, I have to say, was pure, uninhabited ecstasy. It was as if our spirits had once again reunited into one.

The following morning at breakfast, she settled across from me and reached for a crossaunt. “You're still quite a man.”

Smiling, I said, “And, you continue to bring out the best in me.”

She laughed pleasantly. “I've been thinking.”

“About what?”

“About us,” she replied, as she leaned closer and kissed my lips. “I don't ever want to be apart again. When your work here is finished, I want to go to New York with you.”

“I'd like that.”

She kissed me again and said, “Just being with you makes me so happy.”

For the remainder of the week, we were seldom apart, our passions constantly igniting at the slightest provocation. It was as if we could not get enough of one another to satisfy the lust we shared together.

On returning to the States, we hurried off the plane, eager to begin our life together. Once we reached baggage though, I soon discovered that my suitcase had disappeared somewhere in transit.

At first, Dominique seemed annoyed. I accepted her response as a normal reaction to travel fatigue. A week later, she grew more agitated, her manner leading me to wonder if she had again used me to carry something of value through customs. I confronted her. She tried to deflect the issue by using the word, 'love' for distraction. We argued, and that was it.

My luggage did eventually arrive after traveling to places unknown and eventually spending several months at a storage warehouse in Brooklyn. By then, Dominique had already returned to Paris.

In the end though, when I unpacked the suitcase, expecting to find several packets of high quality stones, I discovered that everything was exactly as it had been when I departed Paris.

To this day, I still miss the intense attraction we shared together. And, I truly regret letting my suspicions control my emotions, but knowing Dominique, I suspect that she simply moved on and resumed living life in her own spirited way.

- - -
John is a native born Texan living near Houston. His writing focuses on short stories and flash. Publications to his credit have appeared in several scientific journals as well as a number of internet sites and short story periodicals.

5/2/13

2013-05-02T00:00:00.000-07:00

A Man Like That
By Stacey Spencer

A man like that
With eyes brown like earth
And shoulders the width
Of a stallion’s wild girth
And a soul like coal, not dark
But burning bright
I’d be next to him
On any given night
I’d bring him his coffee
In a slip, the nude or
Leisure suit, if that’s what he liked
Battle his enemies with
Sword, words, or knife
Fill up the water and lather him
Up in the tub
But that is not yet the
Full extent of my love
Whisper his name softly into the air
Run my fingers through every last hair
Praise God for rough edges and feminine grace
For one last look at his sweet, soulful face

- - -
Stacey Spencer writes short stories and poems. She has been published recently in Toasted Cheese Literary Journal, The Story Shack and Pure Slush. Her blog is www.smichellespencer.com.

5/1/13

2013-05-01T00:00:00.000-07:00

TENDER GRACE
By Stacy Maddox

I listen to the songs that make me feel closer to you
And smile at the way you reach straight into my heart
I think about you always, even though we have never met
And the times we talk to one another are so few

Dreams of you are just as sweet, but I have never seen your face
You hold out your hand for me to take
And whisper softly the words I have been needing to hear
As you pull me into your arms for a tender embrace

Bruised and broken, I have come to you only wanting a friend
But what you have given me is more than hope
Setting me free once again, from all of the burdens in my soul
I am no longer the ship lost at sea, tossing in the wind.

- - -
Stacy Maddox lives, dreams and writes in the fast-paced city of Lawrence, KS. She loves to soak up the sun by the river and feel the rush of water over her feet while spending time with her family and pets. Stacy has been published in Long Story Short, ken*again, Leaves Of Ink, The Entroper, Emerge Literary Journal, Three Line Poetry, The Fat City Review, Eskimo Pie, Mused: The BellaOnline Literary Review, Euphemism and more. She has been passionate about art in any form for over 30 years.