Callæbus eqqus is an Open (printed) Book.
Be content with the content? Slide your saucerful full of secrets over here?
Disappointed roundtable debators believed that
She had been animal
And a camællia.
The wandering star gent is part sugar-foot.
A real Achilles heel for him when it melts in the rain.
But, highly soluable.
Death and the Lover.
But, she knows him under different handles.
They rotate who leads the dance to each saraband song.
Often swapping pieces of clothes
Her suspension of choice made him slay her.
Can anybody make anybody do anything?
The difference between clumsy, specious interference and kind, capable manipulation?
She lays the pen aside in such a heat of words.
He called her to come to him from an ocean away. In her stomach and heart, she already then felt bits of twine string loosely drape. Cordons that began slithering into knots pulling tighter and tighter.
She felt it and she said so.
“I promise I feel those sweet fingers clasping at my heartstrings. That is all I promise in the right-now. But, darling, I fear I love you.” she said
How much emotional energy, she wondered? She ought not be fearful of loving, but this one was something else in her mind. This man was impeccable.
In love vs. I love.
One (N) to the right of (I)
is all it takes.
The difference between loved and beloved.
Fitted and bespoke.
She knew quick that she loved deep. And, still could not abstain from diving head first. No one had ever spoke of weal to her before. She wanted to court him and please him and displease him. But, then her imagination spun some daydreams she presented to him. A bombardment of her ideas presented in delicious, but inexperienced confusion. In retrospect, she shuddered at how giddy the effort must have seen. She felt sad like maybe she blew the idea and made herself look ridiculous. Then she grinned and found a laugh, because at least she tried.
She closed her eyes, imagined he could hear her speak and she said aloud,
I’ve not known eyes like yours, or words used like yours. You are special and rare. The way you move through time. The way time moves through you.
You wear it, those lines, on your face. You will only grow more captivating. I am too old to be this young. You’re so well aged. It could sweet. And even naughty.
The cost of a swoony swoon. The dreams of a romantic mystic. The desires of a feral bitch rising from within. Howling and sniffing.
Then she heeded the call and he was the Genuine article.
Arriving on pins and needles; visiting on tenterhooks; finally
She left slain.
Embarrassingly taken aback by how he puts his hands in his denim pants pockets. Adored. Astir in wonderful calmness, he made mere moments eons with just a bit of string or a yarn to spin. Captivating her wonder. A dream of an artful life
She could recall none other that spoke to her as he did.
In fact, he spoke to her about those things most amazing.
He spoke of passions because he knew them too. His laugh endeared. And his smile was usually close-lipped.
She returned home. Visitors at her home. A small party. A confusing dissonance. Time fell strange.
Three days after returning home, she knew with certainty that she wanted to return to him. She wanted to be by him. Partners in art and crime.
She wanted to
Suggest it might…
Concede it must….
Surrender her nerves with a hard swallow
Submit to hot tears.
She wants a new life with him. Silly girl. She knows though, she can do it on her own and feel proud but she could be in love and do it.
Silly. She feels unhip. But, she knows exactly how she feels. And, she knows it may be just a pretty lie she tells herself.
Yet, her intuition just smiles and whispers: it could be sweet. There are so many possible movements to take on this chessboard, that it becomes a real treat when you have a moment where you know exactly what you want and you can accept that it may not happen.
The difference between I don’t think so and I hope so.
Again, alone in her room, she closed her eyes, imagined he could hear her speak and she said aloud,
“I think I see you the way you wish the world would see you, dearheart. You look fine in these eyes. Fingers such as yours come carrying currents. Diligence meets nuanced, indicating well-honed. Your voice, its quiet, clear enunciation draws my ears. I feel you pull slowly on my vibrations. Shifting energetic threads like braiding hair. Bringing to balance the diabolus.
Worth all risk.
She came from a place of dinosaurs.
She moved to a shiny silicon land where lives occur in hands and eyes look down at screens. People speak in hashtags now. A girl 5 years younger laughed as she told her she listens to CD’s in her car. The last physical format to kill off, I am a CD in a digital town.