I am the reason the Rum is Gone

Rumbling, fumbling, tumbling into an encompassing, encrusting, entrusting, dark, lonely chasm to blog about nothing but the fact that I can connect verbs and adjectives….into a paragraph with vague references to skin, sadness, lonely, leaving, dark, moist, people, places, cereal, house shoes, rum and under my bed.

Angst, anger, avenger, longing for fulfilled solitude of morning misting heady perfumed summer mornings giving Hope…to achieve Strength and Resolution… to leave or arrive into the arms of my kindred spirit with 151 proof of love held by sensual slender arms wrapped in luscious purple velvet crushing my heart of hopeful contentment and silencing the yelling lavender house shoes calling my inner child to the kitchen for a bowl of the ever so delightful bowl of Captain Morgan Crunch.

Licentiously is the word for today...not just a word but a state of me.

Silently screaming in my ears in a whisper so soft and grating that I wanted to gouge my ears with my lover’s knitting needles...long sharp pink chrome needles that making a comforting metal on metal noise when clinked together... they are frequently used to feed my healthy addiction to reality, sarcasm, and things made of yarn...like wonderful stories of yesteryear and erotic barnyard antics of unacknowledged lovers.

Truth and honestly are not necessary in this ritual only an unspoken trust that everything will be repeated incorrectly.

You look to me fleetingly feeling ever so enlightened for a few frightful moments that I lapsed slowly in a smile of a 60 watt bulb dangling from the rafters of my soul... tickling and teasing the shadows that shelter all the secrets. Swaying to and fro… Light into Dark. The sudden realization that the noise sawing away in silence one of ordinary beginnings…one of ice cubes tinkling down my spine and piling up around my carefully painted and clipped toes. A sound that pulled the corners of the bed sheet into a beautiful bowtie that fit neatly under the stubble covered chin of my knee...

Tapping out a rhythms with purpose eight little claws of one obese chiweenie dog on 100 year old oak floors under the bed playing with dusty little bunnies waiting to go pee.

I am the reason the rum is gone...