May 2025
-

*Just having a little of a haiku kind-a of fun with an earlier write— Amber glint captured—a brunette leans at the bar,eyes caught by the flameinside a Macallan’s heart—aged swagger, quiet fire. No ice, no pretense—she orders him straight and bare.Glass heavy with want,both hands trace the cold, round rim,breath brushing oak, spice, leather. First
-

Favorite Brands? Let’s Get Real When I saw today’s prompt about favorite brands, my mind did a quick catwalk strut to the usual suspects: Hermès, Gucci, Rolex—those high-end logos that scream “I’ve made it!” (or at least fake it ‘til you make it). In my younger, slightly delusional years, I’d splurge on stuff I couldn’t
-

“The Color of Rest on Sunday”…after Frost It’s Sunday, and the day waits at my window,A silent usher in woolen light.The world, hushed at the seams, has started,But I have not. I sit, not ready yet. Two birds,One, blue with a black-stitched back,The other, cinnamon-flecked and frosted,Chatter in three-four time, a waltz on the limb.Their
-

It was always somethinguntil there was nothing. Simon lived the only life he knew—a dockworker with more days off than on,meeting ends in a mannernot unlike a politician:smiles,handshakes,promises made in passing,rarely kept. But he worked. He didn’t question,not even when he probably should’ve—like when Mable,his neighbor in the trailer park,asked for his last dime.She had
-

If I were dying,would you steal the last breathfrom the seam where sky kisses sea,pour it into my lungsand tell me lies sweet enough to dream by—then step into the fog,where I could only follow with closed eyes,holding you for a thousand nameless days? If I were crying,would you unthread my face from your memory,let

