Religious Detox

A note:  I like to write haiku in french.
             I don't know why I like to write haiku in french.
             But I do.  So deal with it. :-)
             ....Also I think there are two syllables in 'libre', but if there aren't, PLEASE CORRECT ME.
             That is all.  ...I love you. :3


Je suis toute libre.
Votre dieu n'est pas le mien.
Le mien: l'eau, l'oiseau. 

Aries' Horns

The sea found itself on my fingertips
a bright coral color to hold in the sky's reflection.
Bold and bowing only to the soft wind whistling
just outside on the porch.

The nail polish is your warning.

I start at audacity, and sharpen the tips of curled horns.
Your feeble attempts to sneak in and
steal my love make me laugh,
My heart will beat fast and rule you and win.
The heat of my blood will burn you and provoke words
like "Demon" or "hell" from your undeserving lips,
which crave nonetheless the cool comfort
 of my moistened kiss.

But come to me, vulnerably, and throw down your weapons.
Caress my skin and speak easy, relaxed words to me
sweet as lemonade in endless summer.

And you'll have me.
Then you'll be mine, eternally.

Bad Choice of Footwear

My poor sodden shoes were ill-prepared
for the torrential downpour which would ensare
them entirely in concrete-based currents
the morning of my last expense
of energy this week.

Before the grey calm of dawn,
I sat awake and listened to the soft percussion sounds
that raindrops often make.

Were you awake during dark slumber hours
with the presence of mind to hear
each distinct drumbeat that drowned out
song bird tweets and
played rhythms against vertical glass panes
and overworked storm drains
for the amusement of your dreaming psyche?

I was, and I heard the sky
drop down in singing spheres
on the roof of my house.

Still, I woke before the sun,
not caring to see the slick streets
that shimmered,
nor the raincoat hanging limp in my closet.
     I donned my non-weather proof boots,
     useless against the elements
     in a way only SoCal could love.

And I walked out into the murky day,
for which my poor sodden shoes
were ill-prepared.

Angle of Reflection

A stone, thrown swiftly
into the center of the quiet pond,
whistled and popped,
dropping onto the silver surface
and hurling ripples toward
mud covered feet.

It was only briefly that my reflections were obscured,
my thoughts resettled when balance returned.