The Breeze

As the sun shone brightly on his morning he soaked up the soft warmth he received from the ultraviolet rays. In his personal bath of shine a zephyr moved over him and blew over his face.
It was a good morning.
A kind morning. A morning for him.

A Life

Maybe. . . Some day. . .
A life for you
A life for me
A life in a tree he he he he
For if life is short and love is burning then let us be as the world is turning
Together or apart is how we've been
But in the end we both shall win
For what was forged and what was found was not out of sight and not out of sound
Our hearts heard it and our hearts saw it
And brains read it and brains bought it
But. . .
We stand alone and are apart, to remain an ever vigilant work of art.  

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.

The Sound of Missing

It was not a question. He was certain of it.
The most romantic way he'd ever been kissed was at night, in the cool Texas air that February. While leaning on her open driver-side door window talking to her inside the white beast, the lady Cop, in mid-sentence she grabbed his shirt collar, yanked him to her face and thrust her lips onto his. And he was kissed hard and he was kissed well. And just before they connected, he caught her playful grin. . .

Shadowboxing

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She's No Different Then Optimus Prime

Is one single chill sesh--and we didn't even apply the word date--with this chick really that much to ask?

Judging from the track record, it apparently hasn't changed as the mysterious answer still eludes me years later. 

And at that--is getting back to someone, even more excruciating, rather then practically blowing them off?

A single text would make me happy.

If Me + You = Around 30 minutes or so of chill time is too much to ask then don't act so happy to see me. Going out of your way to flag me down on the street (more than once), and make yourself seem so open, so down to chill. Giving me smiles, subtle touching, laughing and giggling at all my stuff, practically dripping with a need to have me all to yourself. I know what I'm feelin' when your around. You're more flirty between the two of us then I ever attempt to be.

Goddammit. Seriously... A cup a coffee, or some Chinese food together, isn't all that bad (and practically your idea)... Or at least, she makes it seem like it's all such a good idea. That is, until, she feels it isn't anymore.

Who-the-fuck-really-knows syndrome sets in, yet again... It prompts a memory of the man with black eyes saying to himself: 

      "All the familiar places..."

 But I'll say this too. Michael Bay needs to scoop her up quick. (He's filming TF3 right now actually) 'Cuz it's more then meets the eye with her. Like a lonely yellow old Camero... it's not. You're getting something different then what she presents you. And before you know it, it's fighting another super-car/alien robot.

And YOU! You Foster City Slut! If you're readin' this... Well... it means you're fuckin' pathetic. (Which makes the pity I have for you swell to an unimaginable size)

Get a life. You can't have mine anymore. 

Munki out.