I like the strange ones

I like the strange ones, the girls with pitch black hair and fingers painted to match.

I like them with a crooked smile and a voice complete with smoke darkened scratch.

I like the wicked jokes and wicked deeds by day. I like the ones who say ‘leave the light on, i like to see you when we play’.

I like the weird ones, the girls bleached all too blond. Of their scarlet lips and mocking wiles I admit I’m far too fond.

I like the wandering ones, the girls who seek just that one perfect man, I’ve no time for whores no matter how nice their tits or tan.

I like the awful ones, who’ll fight for what they do believe, I watch them with baited breath to see they have next up their sleeve.

I like the dreaming ones, their faces far away, I can just imagine how pleasant t’would be a dreaming afternoon, under an oak with them to lay.

I like the shy ones, the girls who whisper ever so soft. They are deep and wise as they are beautiful more often than not.

I love them all, the ones who dare strange. The ones who make their own way over this world and it jagged mountain range. Let my love be professed to you my dears and know my regard does swell.

I’ll ever stand for you against man or beast or mocking bell.

Just one I pray will meet me someday and choose me for true. I’ll be yours my dear, to take to home or heaven or hell.


How many words?

In the beginning there was naught.

A darkness left by a road too long and hard.

Then a voice spoke out from the black. A voice that called me back, day after day at setting of the sun, each time to where this tale was begun.

Upon the first I heard that voice and my tired heart stirred as dark was pushed back by light. I sought you out and was pleased by both your tone and sight.

Upon the second you said your name and there was life within the light that sought to multiply and be more than itself. A dusty hope I brought down from its high and hidden shelf.

Upon the third I saw you frown and knew that I had, dumbstruck, stared. A fool within your gaze, I hid my hope and prayed you hadn’t seen. I gaze upon the little lines of your face and ponder what each one means.

Upon the fourth I brought to you a glass, filled unto the brim and saw you, your knowing eyes lit by a mocking grin. I dared bring out my hope again and see if aught more might here begin.

Upon the fifth you told me little and much, of your friends and days spent in boredom and all things such. I know them all now and still your truth eludes my mind. I seek on lady, tis your own self that I would find.

Upon the sixth I asked if ever you’d worn a ring and when you answered with but another laugh I knew well that your path held as many faults and broken trails as mine.

Upon the seventh I dared to beg for a turn o’er the floor and begat your pearled smile and ringing smile once more. You dance with all the grace I knew you would, I’d fain have another if but dance again with my graceless self you could.

How many words need we speak lady? To conjure from the aether, to forge from spirit and steel, a knowing that be true, a bond that binds and heals.

Yet for all the seven days of words between us passed, I know little of yourself and I see you’d have it so. What secret game do you play? Perhaps by the next eve’ I’ll know. 

Be well lady. 

For now, to gentle sleep, I go.