Icarus's blog: "Hope- by any other name."

It's cool again, like swimming in iced lemonade.
Only it smells like october, only it tastes like december.
I watched a cricket saunter as he serenaded.
Not surrendering to innevitability.

You will perish, long before you could scatter every seed, kiss every rose, sample every flavor.

I pressed the tip of my shoe over his wirey legs, and retro antenae with a brisk crunch.

Not something I normally do, but I felt the need
the call
to end his life with a much more merciful method of mortis
much better to see it coming, blame me rather than god for your brevity on this aimless adrift clod of metals and mud.
I'm much more likely to give a damn.

Just ask him who you should have prayed to when you get there.

Just when I thought I had her worked out.
Passed like a stone, blocked and glazed like an immunization
she managed to meander back into my meager miscalculated misery.

You came by, smiles and a trail of rosy scent announced with such a final stomping strut.
And we talked, at your insistence
about some of the simplest things.

Habbits, ticks, concentration... not mentioning that I have none so long as my heart is slammed against my ribs everytime you pass by like a poodle creamed on the inside of a windshield after slamming the brakes.

I feel a rush, but for the first time in my life it isn't panic
its a hit
a lingering stroll through the poppies
a six year stint in a den of sweat-caked walls and echoing squeaky bed frames.

Have you noticed I haven't touched you
under even the most casual circumstances
to ensure you don't vanish into smoke and scattered, escaping memories.

I wanted it to last forever, but I found myself having to carry a real conversation, while the rest of me was
somewhere else

it was warm and inviting
a magical place of endless epidermal wonder.

And you had to go
through no fault of my own or yours,
some greater schema, some grander mission
but there was a token exchange of things in our hands
I daresay I've never clutched a desktoy with such fervent intent and heartbroken silence in quite some time.

Have I spared you this my little violinist?