All hail the Easter Bunny. There are promises of eggs. Little small gifts enclosed in plastic oval shapes, smelling of new chemicals freshly pressed from large manufacturing companies. My gift to the weather. A small token of spring. Perhaps the swiftness and cool eyed crispness deserves better awakenings than Folgers in your cup and effervescence scalding hot in aging fingers. It's all daisies, ribbons, and freshly starched outfits pressed for the deadline on velvety pews, gotta make it on time in the rush of traffic where runways are composed of yellow dashed lines and patent leather shoes pressed to the metal of gas ignitions. Who needs a Bible? We all have our outfits and hopefully unstained chocolate pressed against our lips honoring the risen from a sealed tomb after three days after the cry of vinegar quenched lips and warm blood dusty from a crown of thorns. Let me celebrate once. Once in my life, go to an edifice filled with familiar tunes and paper ...

it started with a kiss. the magnetic brush of skin eclectic and euphoric magnetic folds of lips encompassed in shallow tongue swirling in the this and that of what annunciation  and mispronounced vowels stuttered from the aftershock of what just occurred. it started innocent. fresh and virgin white clinging to dewy rain and barefoot sensations of raw earth and untouched centers. what became more than  the silken cherry burst with intricate feelings reserved for magical lovers and the anonymity of superiority of what shared becomes re-lived in past memories re-told. it began sweet. the dulce of the leche goodness frothed over from bubbling temperatures rising to the core beads of sweat tickling the inner folds and untouched regions upon the nape of the neck crawling to the curvature of the spine enlongating the time where your finger caresses the newness of what what supposed to be clueless after-glowing of what i told him he gave me. but he did not. this ...