Monthly Archives: April 2015

Cleaver Crush

Just you and me. The director asked us to stare each other down. I almost blushed. I knew you would be my ultimate foe. I know my foes like I know my knives. Yours were beautiful. Sleek, simple, tasteful. Sharpened to minute perfection. The best knives a cook could have. Except a little more sweet.

Miyo. A name like kittens rolling on a rug.

They took their time filming the scene. You had no love for me. I straightened, sweated, struggled to strike out as calm, collected, instead felt like a chicken with its belly slit on your chopping board. I craved a laugh in those black ice eyes, wondered at the image. Wanted a smile, a flash of white, a girl somehow appearing beneath that determined façade, giggling, cute, falling like flour so freely tossed in my hands.

Miyo bowed, I nodded.

“Timer begins… Now!”

Fires flared, pans heated, sugar melted and browned, machines whined and protested under the pressure of ice cream folds and milky licks. I crafted, calculated, poured, mixed, beat, pinched together flavors and spices like an artist painting a passionate scene. You and I we knew our skill and swirled unhindered seamless across the kitchen focused and fluid I might have swung you in an arm and kissed you before flying back to smoke and flame not a breath wasted.

We pause. Director wanted a shot of the sweets in all their half-done ugliness. Miyo I yearned to say something funny hear you laugh yet toyed with jokes in my mouth like badly seasoned food. Strip me again with that unkind gaze I sweat beneath this uniform a clumsy boy with silly dreams while you, you stand like a strike-box deity.

They’ve taken the shots. The game resumes I set aside my pines and fine tune these fingers until they’ve set a sweet so tart and crisp a woman could die on first taste.

“Time!”

I pull back. I pant. We both fell as people do frightened and flushed, swamped in everything so wrong and thrilling like riding a coaster just a little bit broken but oh much more exciting. The end, we lived, we smiled. Miyo you smile like children laughing in a sunlit hall I might have fallen to one knee and asked for eternities spent with you.

But no.

They judged.

I watched my creation picked and licked and imagined how spice and sugar danced on critical tongue. You barely breathed. I worried more for how you fared, what you thought, how you wanted, wished, waited.

My name was called.

I unraveled like a stretched coil, ruined and released at the same time. A bed of money now grinned like coals burning my pocket.

Sometimes a boy will fight and fight a girl he truly likes. And then he wins. You hate it. The guilt, shame, worry. A girl so lovely you’ve hurt like crushing sweet things in your hand. I turned to her, cheers mute, just some beat in my ear. Miyo.

She bowed. I exhaled. A breath of worry, a bashful smile. A step forward.

We hugged.

I burned a bright red and felt the world could get no better than this.

Categories: Creative Writing, love | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

A Favorite Book

I ripped a favorite book in two.

It felt like murder. Laughs gagged midway,
severed, a child’s stifled scream.
One hit, swung, breaked just before
swirls and stars.
A man’s last breath, stopped! Perpetual
life. Death. On hold.
A kiss,
paused, lips one slip away from
sweetness.
An itch.
An itch.
An itch. No scratch.
A warm swig of coffee,
swallowed, sip wedged
mid-throat.
A heartbeat, bookmarked.
A long sigh,
unending.
The tick. The to-

We love, we read books
We dream, we read books
You are a book
I loved
And would have
Loved more

But someone had ripped
in half.

Categories: Creative Writing, love, poems, poetry | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Backstage Romp

A bit of brewed up words, no sugar. Just one of those can’t sleep nights.

“Backstage Romp”

Boy you write stars and tarts
windows brimming with
plush toys smirking button eyes glistening
mouth moves smart as
well played cards

But hey I caught one sec
one breath you
turned paused looked
there a pond some black pool swam those
currents eels spawned slick fouled
sucked
feasted on
lovely things
you flicked the taste from sick curled mouth quick
no further sound spent
except to the tune of humor
before lights returned your sweet act resumed

but

I enjoyed the backstage romp.
The love is tender with
no smoke and mirrors just
you. oh

sweet smoky kiss lonely songs play
I think I saw a sad boy laugh

you.

Categories: Creative Writing, poetry | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Cook

He handed keys to the boss today, said they’re all yours now. Folded back against the chair easy with a smile that crept slow like chocolate melts down warm cake. Boss laughed like so many falling cards. Handed them back, didn’t know what to do with all those nameless twists.

Don’t know your name, something old fashioned and fine like oak and mead with a sugar melt, took and fixed those keys steady, soundless. Held one, rolled it like a loved coin between fingers. Master key. Second long wait, slides two more keys cross the ring. Men’s room. Ladies’. They gathered in your palm like fists pushed slow through raised dough.

Snack room, turn, careful. Glance up, bit of a grin in dark violin eyes. Remembers a door, key fits, clicks snap. Supply room. One like the others, not quite. Maintenance. A dozen more, no labels, silver gold bronze small dents scratch sharp edge spots mark. One you never found out which lock it freed, a mystery. Five more hummed by like notes discordant but sweet, just a hint of dismay. The end, the inevitable, final end.

He handed keys to the boss today. Slipped out with that slow chocolate smile.

Should have been a blues singer.

Categories: Creative Writing | Tags: | Leave a comment

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