I sit atop a flattened rock, smoking my cigarette.
The autumn wind, a taunting foe, hastens street debris to a distainful tempest.
Here, in the alley is to where, I flee. Physically, at the least.

I smoke ... sometimes twice.
How joyous the taste, crisp fall air intermingled with drug laden ghosts of my ill fated future.
Inhaling my escape.

I watch the foot traffic hustle by, unaware of my presence.
Some days, I imagine the lives of these marionettes as they fumble past, to my pleasure.
Some days, my distraction resides within.

Today, I spy a feathery spirit.
Performing the Viennese Waltz with a delicate, yet razor precision.
Her white, downy body alight with the peril in which she finds herself.

A dance, does she, wrings tears from my eyes.
Along the grid of the sewer grate.
She dips and turns and sways.

I catch my breath, she is gone.
But wait ...
The wind, caustic in its sensibilty, lifts her to safety.

A safety so fleeting, she's gone once more.
My heart sinks into the depth of dispair.
I receive the lesson.

Bereft and once again, alone.
I search for the meaning.
Has anyone ever known?

My feather is gone ...
With the grey water and street run off.
I so thought she'd prevail.

Where is the meaning?
What is the point?
Why are we here?

The answers elude scholars and fools.

Who am I?

I am 5'6" tall ... and getting shorter every day - it is my secret desire to shrink away from sight.

I am 49% bitch and 51% sweetheart – so don’t push me.

 I am a young, beautiful and vibrant woman trapped in an old, tired and out of shape body that I'm being systematically smothered out of every minute.

I am shaken, then stirred.

I am a daughter, sister, mother, wife, co-worker, friend ... and I am woman - hear me roar.

I am a bacon bringing, office managing, dinner preparing, household running, child rearing multi-tasker with the will of a two year old and the attention span of 36 year old.

I wear stress like a second skin and would trade my eye teeth for a snake's ability to shed it.

I am a wannabe writer, singer and independently wealthy recluse.

I grab life by the ass and either kiss it, spank it, change it, kick it or wear it as a hat.

I am contents under pressure & handle with care.

I put the ‘fun’ in dysfunctional.

I am an emotional escape artist.

I have a crunchy outer shell, a marshmallowy centre and I melt in your mouth, not in your hands.

I am scarcely two dimensional one minute and overflowing the fifth the next.

I am politically incorrect, inept and incapable of caring.

I am the other white meat.

I am a pill.

I am poet laureate to my own amphitheater of idiots and idiot laureate to my amphitheater of poets.

I am smarter than a speeding bullet, furrier than a locomotive and able to leap tall sandwiches in a single bound.

I live in certainty that I am the product of an immaculate conception.

I keep a clean house, run a tight ship, have a balanced cheque book and lie like a cheap rug - several of which I own, incidentally.

I am high octane, high maintenance, high and mighty and sitting on my high horse.

I am squandering my existence all the while railing against the injustice that resides between the expectation of greatness and the life sentence of mediocrity.

I am heaven and hell wrapped up in one glorious package of rose petals and razor blades.

I am an impish spark and I shine through the fog of my sometimes dreary existence - until I don't ... and then in that chilly absence, I am a bathtub full of bubbles with a cold drizzle closing in.

I am the fire, the ashes and the pheonix - the light and the dark and I make frequent apology for it all.

I am equal to no one, living in constant shadow or glaring sunlight - neither of importance nor inconsequential.

All that is certain is that I 'am'.

Within a wrinkle of the fabric of time, there stands a cabin at the base of a great mountain. A lush thicket surrounds the small clearing and a river meanders past. The sweet grass of Spring's first kiss bursts forth from the freshly defrosted earth. Brightly colored blooms and vivid greens intermingle and surround this quaint abode of hand hewn logs and a tin roof. Soft rain dapples the ground, and the colors melt into one breathtaking blush. A tongue and groove plank door opens to a single great room. Along the far wall stands a stone fireplace - its gaping mouth exhaling baited breath onto the hearth that contains it. On the floor, like the door in its construction, lay a soft rug of lamb skin - as lavish in its comfort as in its size... a contradiction of luxury in an otherwise primitive dwelling. Handmade furniture, some cabinets and a wood stove occupy the opposing wall space and a hand water pump sits on a counter top located near the ground cellar door, rounding out the amenities of this deep country Shangra-la.
 
From within, the sound of the rain is a clandestine performance for an audience of two ... fine jazz ... smooth, sultry. The fire snaps and crackles a ravenous path through tinder dry birch. Lost souls are they ... brought together from hunger so great, the threat of total consumption wafts through the smoke scented air. Tangled in each other, their lips connect and each essence bleeds into one. Passion grows within and without, rising and falling with the flicker of the fire - all at once indiscernible from the flames themselves. His body and hers, joining for the first time. Electrified bare wire, gingerly avoiding the explosive shower of sparks that looms ever near. Deeper into the glorious luxury of her, he pushes ... offering himself, a sacrifice to his goddess - if only in this moment. She answers with total submission - now as master, he reaches her primordial core - taking her to sweat laden fervor. Harder and deeper than either has known with another ... blinding heat rips through her, flooding her senses... searing fingers of molten passion coursing into him ... until irrevocably, they collapse into one another - spent of the desire that drew both to this place.

As the fire feeds down to embers, each seems to glow in the other's gaze. Their love silently stated for none to hear - a fleeting wisp of fog , vanishing in the righteousness of the sun's rays. They will leave this place, never to speak of their passion. The images burned into each soul - cryptic paintings on ancient cave walls bear lone testament to this union.

Leaving the way they came, neither looks back for fear of lost resolve ...

At the base of a great mountain, surrounded by a lush thicket - a cabin stands ... a solitary witness to a birth, a death, and a life lived in between - no matter how brief. An effigy to their love, existing for no one to know - never to be disturbed by the conventions of mankind.

... 'What am I doing?' she thought as she sat anxiously in the back of the cab. The city that raced by the window was completely foreign to her. She kept going over the day's events in her mind. 'Was he watching me the entire day?' Her company had sent her on conference for the weekend to put on a host of seminars. It was held in Chicago, so the thought had never entered her mind that any of her colleagues would be attending. Their cyber affair had gone on such a long time she never imagined she'd meet him in person ... until today. She felt eyes on her early in the day. Standing at the front of a conference room would do that to a person, but she had long grown accustomed to the decidedly uncomfortable position of presenter. No. This was different. This was familiar, focused energy flowing straight to her ... enveloping her ... it was unsettling not knowing its origin. It was late in the afternoon when she spotted him. He was nestled in at the back of the conference room, enjoying his success at remaining undiscovered. It was as though he had chosen that precise moment to be revealed - like he was playing hide and seek with her, an unwitting party. She lost her poise, if only for a moment. Normally unflappable in these situations, she struggled to keep her attention on her task. Her mind raced through a thousand questions. Could it really be him? How could he be here and not have told her he'd be joining this conference? Then remembering she had neglected to mention her involvement in it as well. 'Oh good God, how did she look?' she thought. She was exhausted from the trip and feeling crumpled after a long day - she must be a disheveled wreck. She might’ve known he'd find a way to get the upper hand. That seemed a fitting circumstance where he was concerned. On the street outside the taxi, a fleet of fire trucks screeched by jerking her back to reality. She looked down at the napkin in her hand that was now moist with the nervous anticipation that welled up inside her. 'Meet me at 8:00' and an address of what appeared to be a restaurant. He had slipped it into her bag as she was occupied with post presentation questions and then disappeared into the crowd. She had relayed the address to the cabby and was sped off to heaven only knows where to meet a man she'd been taunting and toying with for years via internet. "Am I out of my mind?" She muttered under her breath. She had nearly managed to talk herself into turning around and heading back to her hotel when the taxi squeaked to a halt in front of a lavish hotel. "That'll be $17.50, Ma'am." Startled, she turned to the driver. "$17.50." The impatient man stated again in a somewhat perfunctory manner. She handed him the money as she stepped out of the cab and then stood, mystified on the front steps of the glorious building rising into the night before her. The face was raw stone and the windows that graced this stately creation were an expanse of what appeared to be leaded crystal. Allowing only a tantalizing clue as to what lay within its walls. She was lost in gaping awe when the concierge interrupted her thoughts. "May I help you, Miss?" She smiled at the reference to Miss rather than Ma'am - fluffing her ego slightly and encouraging her to continue this journey. "Yes, I'm looking for the Stone Room please" she answered in a voice that sounded more like that of a twitterpated teen than an adult of her years. While being led through the grand foyer and down a massive corridor, she drifted back to her hurried preparation for this meeting. 'Likely for the best' she thought with a tone reminiscent of sour grapes. She had raced through the shower and threw on the only evening dress she had brought along. It was black and fell off her shoulders. The fabric was so light it floated as though it were nothing more than gossamer around her slender yet curvaceous build. Her long, shapely legs were bare and shimmered in the evening glow of candlelight. Her hair, which she was just now noticing was still damp from her hasty departure was draped over her shoulders to the middle of her back and pulled loosely off her alabaster face. It was then that she met his gaze. He stood beside the table in a rustic, yet remarkably grand dining room. Her heart lurched. He was a vision of raw sexuality in khaki dress pants and a dark green shirt. Tall and handsome, his hands slightly extended to her. She reached for him and he gently pulled her close. "Do you have the slightest clue how long I've dreamed of holding you like this?" His breath was hot against her neck as he spoke. She trembled, almost imperceptibly. She could feel his body next to hers. Alive, electric. She was responding in ways she had been unprepared to counteract. His chest heaved with a long deep breath. It was as though he was inhaling her very essence. She wantonly relinquished, allowing her spirit to flow into him. "I'm thinkin' I could take a stab at a guess" she barbed. Had her voice not broken when she spoke, she'd likely have pulled off that 'cool as a cucumber' exterior she fought hard to maintain. No. He was all too aware of his effect on her. They were seated. Without awkward hesitation, they waded into a tropical lagoon of conversation. Topics ranged from politics and shop talk to childhood stories and favorite movies. Their ease with one another was reminiscent of old friends. It was comfortable. She challenged him in ways he had never been and he led her into veins of thought she had never considered. They were yin and yang and energy flowed freely between them throughout the evening. With their meal complete and the night drawing to an end, the chilly reality of their circumstance began to wrap its icy fingers around them. They had waited years for this moment and now it was ending. She reached out for him and he pulled her to his chest. With her face turned up to his, she locked his gaze for a seemingly eternal moment. Her eyes, the color of a turquoise sea and every ounce as deep and wet drew him into her web, it was then that he caught her mouth in a kiss. So soft were her lips, that the mounting urgency in her response took him by surprise. Neither could remember getting into the elevator that now drew ever closer to the privacy of his room. They remained locked in embrace until the door opened into the coolness of the hallway. He fumbled for his card key and she giggled like a schoolgirl as they made their way clumsily to his door. Once inside, the gravity of their circumstance was lost. Their desire - borne of curiosity and fed by time, in one evening, became a force that threatened to consume them whole. The world as they knew it dissolved into the shimmer of night. With hands, fingers, mouths and tongues they explored one another. Venturing ever closer to the brink, only to pull back and begin again. He was skilled, she thought amid the aqua marine mist that seemed to fill the room. Never had she experienced such a deep passion ... and all at once, they were one. No distinction of where she ended and he began. Their writhing bodies were lit by only the distorted light of the silver moon that shone outside the thickly plated windows. It traced their union onto the universe for eternity. Waves of heat coursed through her veins. She had little choice but to surrender to the impending orgasmic eruption that seared her loins and quickened her pulse. She sat atop his body coaxing his essence to the surface as he quietly, though unconvincingly pleaded with her to stop. The movement of their hips evolved into a primitive rhythm that could be heard only by them and quickly erupted into a feverish drum dance. The room was swimming, the internal sound of their passion drowning all conscious thought. It was then he succumbed to her, as though bursting forth into life... His slowing breath whipped goose flesh across her back as she lay against his chest, basking in the afterglow. With both spent and much too tired to analyze their situation further, they drifted into a deep sleep, intertwined - mind, body and spirit. With the harsh reality of morning's light still miles away, they lay together - unfettered in their fantasy where sense and sensibility do not dwell and the dream can continue, if for only a moment more.