The Color of Love

On his side on the universe he sat on a bar stool at his local restaurant and bar where he knew every staff member, cook and even shook the owner's hand on a regular basis. He stared off into the half empty glass of his beer, Yuengling, great stuff. Some days he wouldn't even bother keeping track of which number he was on. Today was one of those.

But the tenders of that bar took care of him, he was told it was number four. The blonde behind the bar filled him up yet again after he downed the rest, a friend and a good reason to show up. A woman's company was something rarely enjoyed these days. He tipped her well for her service and appreciation of his patronage.

He stared outside and saw the dark blue sky of the morning, this a.m. was really his p.m. But he always stopped to enjoy some overcast. Set against the backdrops of palm trees and luscious green foliage, the dark clouds and impending rain gave him an effect his took in deep. 

As he smoked his cigarette outside he stared off into the trees as the air blew by cool and fresh, invigorating almost. He closed his eyes and spread his arms wide catching the breeze and basking in the wonderful feeling of the atmospheric baptism. . .

Then he thought of her.

As she drank a cup of coffee in the cafe', her heart was heavy and her mind was full. Lifting up the small ceramic cup off the small ceramic saucer was all she did for five solid minutes. 

It was a certain time of the morning and a certain temperature in the air. She sat by a large window and listened to the jazz dolling out it's aroma softly from ceiling speakers. Her hands not shaking but her breath unsure, she used a cigarette to calm herself outside in the icy weather of the morning. The sun providing no warming comfort to her. The dew in the grass shone like glass and the fog of the morning rolled thick like cotton. 

The coffee now doing it's job her pulse was steady and her heart beat with life. She looked around and saw the morning beauty coming into full effect as a ray of light broke through a puffy cloud and onto the outside patio where she stood. She felt for a moment a rush of heat the golden line provided her. 

Maybe only her? 

Maybe sent down directly for her? To hold her in the gentle care of a beautiful morning and all the qualities of her environment she had recently come to appreciate. This wasn't New England anymore, but a new place to call home. To strive for excellence in her craft and get the piece of it she needed. Just enough to pay the rent and drink a glass of wine. 

But what else? 

Was there something else missing? For all the calm and benevolent Sundays that had passed and she'd soaked into her soul like a sponge: "A life full of everything still leaves such to be desired."

Such things, such things, such things to be desired. . .

As he steadied himself back to consciousness, he focused on his state of being, his current predicament. . . .He was doing well. Superman does good. It was a feeling of peace that had snuck up on him like a predatory creature of mental prosperity. It was a majestic thing of a healthy and soulful nature. It was out of his command and a surprise to himself that out of the darkness there in deed was light and sun and warmth and energy waiting for him. And this also made him scared. . . What if it was taken away from him? What if after all this time and all the mud and oil and gloom and doom it was his destiny to be damned without happiness. A specific kind of happiness of course. The only kind that ever made him feel whole. Feel worthy of life. Feel like a complete man. A man complete. He was scared it would be swiftly taken away from him. On such a glorious morning with all the vibrancy of a life anewed he felt a desperate urge inside himself to keep the newly embraced feelings of a life full of color and pigmentation. A thing that gave him strength. Please,  he said to himself as he sipped a beer and took a drag in the early morning sun( his night time moon), please don't let me down. . . And as the breeze took it's wonderful ecstasy with it, he thought of his poem. A playful piece and one he admired.

The lovely intoxications of his many fascinations were only but a destination he always found an infatuation of which to seek a hydration in the sweet salvation of the neverending gyration of the sensational exaltation! 

Oh what wonderful concentration he kept on his mental stimulation that provided terrific syndication that always kept his elation of a healthy lengthy duration and gave his heart a certain vibration with his stupendous mental presentation for the everlasting vacation he took in his lovely nostalgic liberation was only but a whisper of thrill compared to that of live sensation.

For the color of love and all it's pigmentation is a masterful creation between to two people and their fantastic exploration diving deep into the magnetization of love and all it's polarization in partaking in it's purification and undeniable rejuvenation!