Author S. K. Nicholas

It’s summer. Broken flowers and blankets. Sunshine and books. Spreading, always. Through the trees, she swirls like smoke, thin as air. Everything’s hazy. The gaze, of no tomorrows. I lay in the bath. The chill of autumn, creeping slowly. The back of my aching throat, my aching bones. They call me bone daddy. Over the water, through the mist of early mornings. You stand there, cigarette in hand. You watch as she levitates. Corn. Amber and burnt leaves. Some kind of harbor, ripples in the water. Through open windows, the freeway at night. Forever neon. The nothingness of pleasure, of feeling alive. She peels back her flesh. A mess of wonder, you place your hands upon her hips. Above the trees, around the rim of chalk, there’s only dreams. This isn’t today. It never is. A balcony, some kind of piano. Sluts dancing, but you’re just bored. They grin as they pass you, wanting to catch you. They shake and they break, but you’d rather just walk in the woods. There’s nothing worse, than to live a lie. There’s nothing worse, than to paint a picture that isn’t true. Through a maze of luscious green, there’s a Minotaur. There’s a day in July, when everything’s hot. It boils. The sun and sea, dissolving. All those words you want to get out. All the magic that dances within, that no one seems to understand. Beneath my empty stare, everything is in a state of rapture. Past, present and future. Make-believe and real. Ghosts and imaginary friends. The taste of love, the shadows of loss. It’s like being drunk, but infinitely better. It’s like dreaming, but realer. A thousands stars in her hand, a million upon her belly. Swans and drawings, of me. Bedsheets and origin. Nature, ocean. Womb river, mother. To fuck, and blah blah. The days grow weary, the candle burns, out. Closing my eyes, I see, all I need to see. Eyes of autumn, autumn, eyes. A forest, where everything grows. A girl now a woman. Snowflakes and frozen water, upon her, white, teeth.