romance
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Chamois in hand, the shopgirl dusted absentmindedly with her right hand while balancing a massive book with left. Instead of being behind the register she had stationed herself close to the fading sunlight of Tartini’s curved window front. The shop, geared to look like an exotic bazaar, was curated to ensnare hipsters and boho soccer
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Breathe, Ian, breathe, I told myself. Cupping my hand, I checked my breath for the seventh time. I peered into the rearview mirror again to admire my fresh cut and scan the coffeehouse’s door. My watch read 11:13. We’d set up the date for eleven but I know chicks are always late and get a
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Burning ring of fireHunka hunka of burning lovegreat balls of firein songs love is a flameme, I’m just a straw maneasy to knock down, no brains, flammable My girl, the prettiest thing in the only bar in townShe never gave me the time of daybut late one night Guns ’n’ Roses was playingthe air smelled
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Hold my handSnake your armWarm and firmAround my middleTuck your finger under my chinLifting up my head when it is downNever believe me when I say I’m fineBecause you know I’m fine meansI’m finally broken and empty and so very veryTired of being never enoughLook deep into my eyes again, againUntil I see me reflectedAnd
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It was never meant to go this farJust wanted to fly on the Whirl A GigTo scream ourselves hoarseAs the wind caught our secrets You held my hand on the Ghost TrainIt was never meant to go this farBabysitting money splurgedOn hot buttered corn and cotton candy mouthfuls Cherry ice warm lipsMissing that last busIt
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“Enter.” Janx’ voice was terse as usual. Instantly I was a little boy asking for a second cookie instead of a grown man, a crown prince, a bridegroom. Even though our union was in name only, a year long symbolic marrying of our clans, I still felt I deserved more. More what I had no
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Weave me a spellOf titan tresses and heaving bosoms,Of muscle laden bad boys with tender souls Bewitch me for awhileBetwixt misunderstandings ridiculousAnd entanglements easily untied Swaddled in shopworn cliches and shabby tropesEmbrace my tattered mind inside paperback coversEnchant me into happily ever after For a while
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He could have had love but instead he chose onions. Sassy reds, sensual walla wallas, andcoy yellow onions lolled on his granite countertop. Long and hard, his Wusthof was slick with sweet onion juice as Chris sliced. Stefany, with the pouty lips and the annoying voice that always sounded as if every sentence was a
circular staircase 