LesLit

. pow pow . . March . another month of ink evenings broken promises dreams flown against skies of warm spring streams she said would bubble of closed heart you are mine . Март. еще месяц чернил вечерам нарушенные обещания мечты летал против небо т&#

. hugging dead girls . my offer - i'll deliver you small bits of minimalist prosery, you take them and open your head a little ... let your own story in. you tell those stories in your heads, behind the wheel, turning back your bed, sitting at your desk, we won't call it theft. - be a whimsy - ... there's a dusty trail of slapped faces burnt homes broken intentions poverty and wastelands left behind her, tracks in cement and sands ... "... it's all about the last word." Her eyes jittering, jam-citied, hyped ripe thing sitting shadowed. "Oh?" my dismissive passing wipe swipe. "Howz that?" She's really kranked fingers tapping tapping a smal

.deepening. I am distracted, knowing it shows, watching as it grows. Trying to keep centered acquisition and shedding onto others recognitions. Long too far to go; goading myself for lost concentration. You remember, do you, our Greek oared trireme passages? Take me home. .Февраля. заточенного лезвия ветра кристаллической решетки п

... find me ... The two sit together in the sunlit late morning at Caffé Strega. "What I don't get is the tea Helena." "Oh the tea was essential to it all." The younger of the two, still quite attractive for her age, stirs in her cup mixing remnants of foamed cream, "Really? I'm concerned then, didn't see." The other, carefully touching up her lipstick in a gold rimmed compact "Oh damn it Sophia you know I hate lipstick off lip line." She lays lip pencil down and carefully cleans the slightest of misapplications from beneath her lower right lip. "Think about it, no tea ... how would the plan have proceeded?" She looks over the rim of he

. reality . "Let's make a story; shall we? It's such a grey day so let's make it solid. Come sit here beside the window. That's good isn't that comfy? We’ll need some solid things won’t we now; let’s see, a town? Perhaps just a good big wing back chair in a nice room; you ag “You need to get a good detailed image in your head you know, not like sitting here with the window and all that grey out there. If you close your eyes it might be easier dear. That’s right; no worries I won’t let you fall to sleep, I need you for this after all.” “So we have a room with a wing back chair what color do yo

. arms around myself . ... bees infiltrate moths etch careful fish swim swim leap flash suffocate snails hesitate sweet butterfly dreams silk spun winter fates ... "You're warm enough? ... Good. Now that we've got our setting for our story let's add some things. We need characters for our setting and since we're both girls, well a woman and a girl since at my age that girlishness is long long gone, how about someone your age?" "No? You want someone older?" "Oh you made me laugh with that, alright, someone who can drink then." "It's so very important how we handle her, each and every detail of her will come to light and we need desperately t

. vampir . all the promises all the promises they fall to sleep leaves in forests deep “Story runs thin; here, this point Miss Magneson” the Chief Investigator looks up from the greasy fingered, corner-folded page of the report. The young woman seated across the grey rubber surface of the table with her arms tightly crossed leans her head slightly to the right, her forward fall of blond hair obscuring her left eye leaving only the clear grey iris of the right exposed in the light. “Does it?” her voice is almost inaudible. This room is unlike the last; this room is black and grey contrast with a silvered two-way mi

. color of Silver . Rosalina Mendotza The iPhone jitters and tap dances to its tune. The smooth brown flesh and bicolored painted nails draw in search across the wooden surface to make it cease. The hand grasps, wraps and removes. A small gleam of some sun hued yellow lamp, defused, reflects in the vacant polished haze of the dark wood surface. “mmmhh Hola? Yeah I am.” Silence measured in heartbeats, and then a woman’s moan; “Yes, she is. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” The roar of the Ducati Diavel is lost to the weeds that rise in tendril reaches toward the waning moon and furnace orange-tint clouds. The