look what i have done to others coming back to me now- keeping solitude held firmly against myself. here is the recollection...... it involves a fragile gentleman finding respite in the attention that fostered the connection that i had lavished upon him as the chase which served to prove my pulchritude and prowess progressed and there we were, running neck to neck through the dust of human uncertainty yet establishing more and more comfortable common ground and then the road was gone and we began to feel safe in the cloud like realm of intimacy and all was well and bright until he turned to me in a foolish fit of solidarity and wrenched his heart from his chest and offered it to me and i was annoyed that love coloured blood was staining my pretty satin shoes and i, being the petulant flea that i was, shoved him away from me and all affection drained away like the color that vanished from his face when i laughed in derision and turned to run towards someone, something- anything that had sensibly stayed coldly self contained.  

3 gifts for the lover...(one) the liquid from blue eyes to color his view above when it grows black. (two) an electric wire cutter to saw open the ever tightening cage around his heart...(three) 1000 doves enclosed in a paper house that have been taught to flutter fly from dark, then aim straight into light.  

if the bread belongs in the parlour, it goes to mouldy in spite of the pleading armchair which like the butter lies whining until the door mat sticks it in the mailbox cheerfully and the screen queen complains about the sassy broken shutters but the door says, come hither, you are younger and concrete wants to keep cracking but the penis is the real winner here for we will all die for the sake of it's dinner and in the end it's clear that sometimes we should all shut up and listen to the greasy spoon a'coming around the bend.