The Glory Hole Sunday

I wanted to take the violin apart.

I couldn't play it. I just sat there looking at me in it's mockery.

...but I could take it apart and make it something that I understood.
Then I could play it.

I wasn't given the same list of rules. I wish I was.

I was given the short skirt blow job list...
do this.
do that.

I got finger banged on the bus in my catholic school girl skirt in 7th grade.
It stopped after I put his head thru the window.


Shattered.

Yeah. I got the fuck it bucket list.

The Glory Hole Sunday.

Funday. ha.

I took a chance.
These fucking days all blend together anymore.

It's a Sex Wax Sunday without the surf.
Blown out.

....seems to be the story around here.

It's time to reel it back in.
Hana Pa'a.

I'm often surprised at how far gone kindness is.
How self absorbed most people are.
How saying what you mean and meaning what you say seems like a lost language.

There's a walk that I frequently take my dog on in the woods near my house. It's a healthy loop so we both spend some time frolicking and kicking dirt. After a recent storm that downed a few trees I found and saved a pinned sapling.

Each time I would walk Lunar I would be sure to make the loop, check on the tree - give it some love and energy (trees are said to be able to absorb a lot of our problems if you touch them; years of experience dealing with us and our poor decisions I suppose).

Shortly after the storm, the park service came and cut up the fallen tree that had originally pinned the sapling; and for the second time I found the sapling stuck under a cut log. I picked it back up - realizing that twice down was a much harder recovery (having visited that metaphor many times in my life). Still I continued my due diligence to my woodland family member. The chosen one.

Today...I really needed help.
I asked for help and then shortly after I realized that it was time to stop asking for help.
I need to pick myself back up. Somethings been pinning me down lately too.
Not that I was asking for anything huge. I just needed a break and some time to work and
my time is not someone else's time. It is only my own.

Because of this I needed to run Lunar. He's still a puppy and although we had already been on a huge walk it just wasn't enough for him to relax or for me to be able to get any work done.

I did the loop angrily. I thought it would calm me down but each step was only upsetting me further since the only thing I really wanted to do/needed to do was work today. Here I was in the woods. You would think I would have been able to enjoy it. I stayed longer than usual just in hopes that Lunar would exhaust himself and not vibe off of my negative energy.

I do the same loop about 5 times a week. Today....
it just wasn't going to let me get out of there the same.

The sapling was dead. When I ran the last trail to where I normally stop and give love to this little tree that I so desperately tried to save. I realized I had failed.

I'm failing.

Needless to say I lost my shit, crying in the woods, hoping no one would come by and try to understand how fucked up my relationship with this situation was.

I just really wanted it to live. I really thought that I could save it.
I really think I can help people.

I try so hard to be selfless and help people and I just needed a break today.
I needed the tree not to be dead but it's dead.

...and I need to stop helping people and start helping myself because soon enough
the story's gonna be the same. I've been putting everyone and everything first and the only thing I keep seeing happen is that my art is suffering.

I'm suffering.
I'm no different then the pinned sapling. It never asked me to save it - I just really believed I could. Perhaps it was happier in the down.

Seems to be the story around here.
I'm just not interested in that ending.

Hana Pa'a.

Soon the waves and I found the rolling, soon the waves and I found the rip

Soon the waves and I found the rolling
Soon the waves and I found the rip

Tide

In the quiet comes the crashing
the pulling
pushing
choking
drowning

Empty arms
I wish I still had your soul to hold

...even though you pulled me under.

I think about someone every single day...our relationship hangs by a thread - literally

I think about someone every single day...our relationship hangs by a thread (in my head), literally.

The things we do. 

I try really hard to be transparent.

trans·par·ent
tranˈspe(ə)rənt,-ˈspar-/
adjective
-(of a material or article) allowing light to pass through so that objects behind can be distinctly seen.
-easy to perceive or detect 

-having thoughts, feelings, or motives that are easily perceived.


I have worn these two bracelets daily for over a year now. One represents my sister..the other represents someone I love and respect dearly. I made matching bracelets for both of these people. Friendship bracelets..I know I'm a dork but I was revisiting my youth and it really had a symbolic meaning for me.

One hangs on by a thread and has for the past three months. One is as solid as the day I made it. 

Two days ago I was out and I was at a outdoor bar that I love chatting with a guy that I like. We just talk when we run into each other - never exchanging numbers or social media. He's from Philly so I think maybe it's just that we feel like old friends. I won't say that I'm not interested though; because I am. 

As I'm talking to him I look down and the bracelet is gone. I panic..without trying to look like I'm panicking - and look around me for it realizing that was foolish; I sat with it for a moment. 

I've been gauging my hearts attachment to that relationship by this bracelet btw...and I let go.

I let him go. 

Yesterday morning I woke up - and the bracelet was back on my wrist; still hanging on by its thread. 

..and I wonder what part of this story I'm making up.

Without the vessel, there is no beat.

                                                                                             Boy with Horse
                                                                                             Picasso
"String Less"

I search for the pulse
the shudder, the thump, the faint
slow
push

In the moment of climax, crash, impact
disrepair..
I just want to feel

again

I remember the first time it happened -
it was a three sixty
a spin out, a thrust, a jolt, jagged edge and
a gasp of air; you would think -
not

nothing

Each time I reach for it
I scream for it
I rage for it

Apparently,
without the vessel
there is no beat.

                                                                                                           Boy with Banjo
                                                                                                           Donated

The 7th door on the Psych Ward Floor

I am sympathetic rage. I am a swollen nerve, a paper cut, an unfinished Sunday Crossword.
I am the un-used crayon. The sinner. The broken record. Repeating. Spitting. Swallowing. Choking on the splinters. I'm a wood whore. A back door. A fast exit and a quick swing. I am screaming the loudest silence. I am smiling back the tears. I am the crooked pavement hop scotch accident. I am involved and unavailable. The hole that the glue can't squeeze out of. The 7th door on the Psych Ward Floor. The misguided criminal. The backwards chalk line. The cocaine sneeze and the hitchhiked sleeve. I am crisp. Snap Happy. Fuck all.

My blog about a blog about me....The Fox and The Howl

http://www.thefoxandthehowl.com/

Nice Feature about my show True North, at The LAB - Asheville, NC.

Here's an excerpt:

Can you tell us about the little map book and what it means to you?


My dad is a collector, that is what we lovingly call him. He is also a product of the Great Depression so the modern day term would be hoarder. I grew up surrounded by treasures..this is one of them. My childhood home is on a tributary off the Delaware Bay; a ship port. In the town I grew up in the only commerce was a boat yard that salvaged and remodeled old ships, often large ones. We had an old boat yard house on our property that housed my dads antique collection and at one point was an antique shop called the Dusty Dowry. Ohhhhh…the treasures in this old house; from the cherry stairs to the bookshelves stocked with history. I was enamored as a child. This book fell into my hands as if it wanted me to tell it’s story. It has been a model of inspiration since the day I first held it. The journey of a young sailor in the 1920′s and his artful sketches across the map. I fell in love with the ink and verse on paper. It has never left my side since the day I found it. It also defines for me the love my father had for ephemera. Old maps, books, post cards – it is such a part of my childhood to revitalize it into art is my story.

What inspired you to start working with maps and to do this show and how do you go about creating your pieces in thought and process? 

Maps have allotted me travel on a budget. I so want to visit the small towns with big names, the vintage gas stations on an unknown route thru Mississippi. Conversation with locals about what they love and their family routes/roots. They really tell our story and my art is so much about that; about a place in time that has a location that is near and dear to our hearts that defines us in a way. We can’t escape where we are from or where we go no matter how far the distance from each point. Maps give us that defined line. I love that story and it’s so unique to each of us that have traveled a marked path.



Click the link at the top (you may have to scroll over it..it's kinda dark) to read more. Much thanks to Terrah and Christian - the creators of The Fox and The Howl for allowing my story and show to grace their pages. Love what these two are doing creatively for the arts community here in Asheville! xo Make sure you follow their blog...so much incredible art, music, venues and ideas in the mix.

Graphite Girl

I will be your graphite girlfriend

Your pin up perfection 

Lines - 

Sketched over 

Re drawn 

Striped tights I never wore again

Fall in love with my charcoal thighs

My un-drawn eyes

Put me in a box 

Nail me up

A prisoner to your walls

And forever your...

Graphite girl

True North? What is the meaning of this show?

True North.

What does this show mean to me? It has been such a struggle trying to figure out what I'm doing with this art. I still don't know. Honestly, when I think about this month, these past few months, this past year I often feel bad for handling it as well as I have. For finally getting to the point where I have enough information that I finally understand how to choose happiness.

I did The Artists Way January until April of 2014.
I didn't talk about it - (and I talk about stuff because as an artist, a public figure, someone who really cares and wants to make a difference in the goodness that exists (at least in my world - daily) I think that my art and my voice have a visual connection. It's important to me that I use these two things to share the love...)

You see, you aren't allowed to talk about The Artists Way (aka Fight Club..I swear). I did it because I needed something to keep me focused off of what was going on with my dad. I needed guidance and it fell into my lap and it made me do the work. I did the work; it was really hard but I found a few things out about myself that have been holding me back from my purpose, my intent. Obstacles that come my way are always extreme and constant. I've been pissed off for years throwing blame into the sky...the whole why me thing.

Losing the baby last June (note the month) really showed me what it felt like to have a broken heart. It also really made me question this body. It's hard not to put blame somewhere when bad shit happens. I decided, after doing The Artists Way - that I had blamed this body; this amazing creative machine for so much of the pain in my life. The reason why I am a blocked artist is because I haven't honored my body..I haven't always treated it kindly. I've compared my West Coast body to my East Coast body for years.

The Artist Way taught me to take myself for walks and look at the trees, and to spend sweet moments with myself, to spend time on acknowledgement and forgiveness.

After 16 weeks; sure enough - I felt open. I literally had a moment where I felt my heart chakra burst wide open (sorry if I'm being too Asheville for you, but it's the truth). I embraced the opportunity that I had for love...but mostly to give love.

It doesn't always go easy for me...as quickly as I open up I close back up. I decided I wanted to do a fast for the month of May. To finally put into action a system of honoring my body for its creativity. Strengthen the core. Last May was the only full month of my life I was ever pregnant. (Of course..you know where I was when I realized I was pregnant - on a 15 ft. ladder cleaning the top of a vintage bus.) I wanted to stop blaming this body for it's failure to carry a baby and honor it with it's ability to carry this creativity. I told someone this and their reply was "So, you are punishing yourself?"

...and that stopped me.

I thought...am I?

Am I doing it again..without even knowing it am I repeating the behavior that I have been engaging in for years? It kinda put me down for a few days because it's a hard thing to know when you are being an extremist - and as an Aries; I've been known for extremes to say the least. Was I punishing myself..good question. Better answer -

No. Not at all.

This is how I figured it out. True North. What is the reason of this show..this art? I sat here and stared at these maps more than I made art on them this month. I had nothing. I thought the fast would give me the restful time and space to be creative but instead it made me crazy(er). I was foggy, distracted, moody...etc..ALL of the things that come with fasting. In this struggle though and dealing again with heartbreak on a different level I realized something...

because of The Artist Way that there didn't need to be a story about why this is True North.

It really is my True North. Making art is the only thing I need to do. Creating, engaging in creating, looking at art, making art, being art, that's all. True North is exactly that...just doing it. It's right now..I was involved in the meaning of my show...who cares about the show.

Who cares if it's my best work ever, or not, or even if it makes sense to anyone but me...it only matters that I do it. Everyday, all of the time. This body, and treating it kindly, is the only way I can make this art.

"You take care of the quantity, I will take care of the quality". -The Artists Way or God or True Source..whoever it is for you - Mr. Fucking Rainbow.

Yes. I did this for me. All of it. So that I can be better for you. YOU.
Universe. I am inviting love into my life with open arms...and if it doesn't come these arms are strong enough to wrap around and hug myself.

When the hurt of the loss comes in - in any situation now; even the most recent on with Lunar - I let myself revisit crazy fuck all Maryanne and then I pass it thru me and out pops this courageous, kind, amazing person I'm just getting to know.

It's an adventure - True North; my everyday is my best art show. xo

14 miles away from a landfill grave

Hammer
Nails

Open the door, shut the door

Nail the fucking door.

Jump out the window.

Queue "Emergency Exit"

14 miles away from a landfill grave 
Never pawned my watch and chain 
To the landlord living inside my head 
Never paid my rent till the lights went dead 
Then I saw my sign comin' up the road 
A dead ditch waiting for to bury my load 
On the avenues in the plain of day 
I threw a Roosevelt dime in a bucket of rain 

Now hold your hand onto the plow 
Work your body till the sun goes down 
What's left of death is more than fear 
Let dust be dust and the good lord near 
It's a little too much to ask of faith 
It's a little late to wait for fate 
So tell the angels what you seen 
Scarecrow shadow on a Nazarene 

Kindness will find you 
When darkness has fallen 
Round your bed 
Kindness will follow 
Children will wander 
Till 
The end

-Beck 

I'll wear this skin suit to the masquerade

                                                                                                                 " Masquerade"
                                                                                                                    Available 
                                                                                                   *serious inquiries only   

I've crashed into a million pieces 

Every bit as broken as before 

I'll wear this skin suit to the masquerade 

I'll dance Black Swan

Blue

Consequently I'm engaging in disengaging 

If you hadn't noticed me noticing you 

and the pauses in between 

My body shook over and over 

Repeatedly repeating 

And over again

And then nothing

More pauses

Springtime came and went and the pounding in my skull was resolution for the new

Idk lol omg ok, wait for it

.........

Insert eye roll.

Despite not being heard, I will not start screaming.

                                                                                                            "Desole" Available
                                                                                                             Serious Inquires Only

I don't always feel heard. It is the one thing that frustrates me to the point of disappearing.
I'm trying to learn how to be transparent.
How ego is pointless and serves no purpose.

How to selflessly love with no expectations.
To feel hurt and then to put it away.

How to deal with the feeling of intuition when it presents itself.
To say what I mean each and every time I speak.

Despite not being heard,
I will not start screaming.

..and I'm not going to disappear because I want to be here.
I want to be exactly where I am...making art.

You are more than welcome to stop by but I will not ask.

My door is as open as my heart...
but my mouth is shut.

                                                                                                    "Thoughtless" SOLD



The National
"Slipped"

I'm in the city you hated
My eyes are fallen
Counting the clicks with the living dead
My eyes are red

I'm in the crush and I hate it
My eyes are fallen
I'm having trouble inside my skin
I try to keep my skeletons in

Is it weird to be back in the south?
And can they even tell
That the city girl was ever there
Or anywhere?

I'm having trouble inside my skin
I try to keep my skeletons in
I'll be a friend and a fuck-up
And everything

But I'll never be
Anything you ever want me to be

I keep coming back here where everything slipped
But I will not spill my guts out
I keep coming back here where everything slipped
But I will not spill my guts out

I don't need any help to be breakable, believe me
I know nobody else who can laugh along to any kind of joke
I won't need any help to be lonely when you leave me

It'll be easy to cover
Gather my skeletons far inside
It'll be summer in Dallas
Before I realize

I don't want you to grieve
But I want you to sympathize (alright)
I can't blame you for losing
Your mind for a little while (so did I)
I don't want you to change
But I want you to recognize (that I)

It'll be easy to cover
Gather your skeletons far inside
It'll be summer in Dallas
Before you realize

That I'll never be
Anything you ever want me to be

I keep coming back here where everything slipped
But I will not spill my guts out
I keep coming back here where everything slipped
But I will not spill my guts out

True North - I hope this finds you on a similar journey...I do hate to travel alone. xo

I'm just going to close my eyes and let it all come out. 

I'm 25, packing my car to drive across the country to an unknown. 

California.

The only thing I knew back then was that it was where the art world was....it was where my heart strings (sinew, fiber, heart) pulled me. 

I was successful there. I was in love. I got married. I was happy.

I suppose it didn't really matter to me so much that I wasn't making art. 

Fast forward to a few years later and I'm suddenly in New Jersey, failing, unsuccessful and unhappy. 

Depression introduced itself into my life for the first time. I spiraled out of control. 

Drug addict, psych ward, rehab, reckless, divorced, unhappy, sad, lost, lonely. 

I started making art. 

I've spent years pulling myself out of that black hole; but it was in the black hole that I found myself. 

It's funny how the two worlds collide and where you end up...

Asheville:

Happy, successful, grounded, healthy, open, kind, strong, independent, still a little lost, still a little lonely. 

Making art. It's been 6 years. 

Here I am in the throws of creating my first collection of Map Artworks for Asheville. This is why I came here. 

I work with maps because I relate to the lines that intersect, cross over and pull us in different directions. My own life has that grid. This body of work needs to tell that story. I-40, I just turned 40 - it's the hardest number I find myself having to write. It has it's own map, it's own direction, it's own compass rose. True North. 

True North - intuition. The direction your intuition pulls you is your True North.

I have worked really hard to get to this place where the art, the intent, the intuition and the act of creating are all connected. A 4 way stop where everyone smiles and waves at each other. I am so grateful for the highways and byways, the pit stops and the pot holes that have gotten me here to this amazing mountain. To this body of work; however it may unfold in front of me. I surrendered into the darkness to finally see the light. 

I hope this finds you on a similar journey...I do hate to travel alone. xo

*despite the lack of sleep I'm not tired. I'm driven. I'm erotic. I'm insane with lust. I want this.

It wakes me up in the middle of the night (3am to be exact)
a blanket of insecurities pulled tight
around my throat
constrict
unconstrict
block
unblock
write.
“Are you paralyzed with fear? That’s a good sign. Fear is good. Like self-doubt, fear is an indicator. Fear tells us what we have to do. Remember one rule of thumb: the more scared we are of a work or calling, the more sure we can be that we have to do it.” 
― Steven Pressfield, The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks & Win Your Inner Creative Battles

There are only a few things I am certain of (currently). - I can't not.
A double negative when drawn abstractly can be a positive. A cross. +

1.) I am certain that I am not alone.

This 3am calling, the lists I write in my head, the artworks I draw over and over
are taking (over). It's maddening.
..and exciting.
Waiting for the chatter of the birds to bring me upright.
Write.

2.) I am certain that the universe (myself) has very specific intent for me (universe).

3.) I will continue to give it all away, day after day - to make art.

“We must do our work for its own sake, not for fortune or attention or applause.” 
― Steven Pressfield, The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks & Win Your Inner Creative Battles

*despite the lack of sleep I'm not tired.
I'm driven.
I'm erotic.
I'm insane with lust.
I want this.

I'm an addict again. (transference)

I'm a wife again.
My wedding dress - a white canvas (wood).

I drew you in. (Youniverse)

4.) At the end of my arm there is an extension of myself that must create daily. It's often hard for others to understand (assumption) and I try to blend into the normal (society) but I'm removed. I am in an artwork that I have yet created.
Every blink is an eyelid full of potential. An assemblage. A collection of what I've lost (found).

5.) I'm only writing this to pass the time so that I can get up and start to work. (play)
6.) I try to be interesting on paper (monitor)..because in real life I try really hard to be dull and it's a shame that I have to market myself like this...I hope that someday I don't have to anymore.
7.) I wish the world (myself included) wasn't so obsessed with social media; and that they would take the time they spend online in a community garden or volunteering. (The extension of positive energy into the universe is the only shit that stops war(s)).

“The working artist will not tolerate trouble in her life because she knows trouble prevents her from doing her work.”
― Steven Pressfield, The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks & Win Your Inner Creative Battles

8.) I love. I am certain that I love. (I wasn't always certain of that). xo

There's a science to walking through windows..

"I am not my rosy self
Left my roses on my shelf
Take the wild ones, they're my favorites
It's the side effects that save us"





It's been a year. I think back to it often enough but the months surrounding it are a blur. How my body got from that state to this state is a complete unknown. Years of pain piled up on a skeleton that resembled a shattered mirror of itself. I don't talk about it a lot...if at all - but it's a constant. The things we do to protect ourselves. I've decided to honor myself and the temple that carried you for a sacred moment by returning to the skin I was in then. I don't want to carry around your ghost anymore in the holes of my pockets.

It's time.

"I'm trying, but I've gone
Through the glass again
Just come and find me
God loves everybody, don't remind me
I took the medicine and I went missing
Just let me hear your voice, just let me listen"

You gave me the strength to decide that I was worth it...thank you. I've forgiven myself for the failures and for the flaws. I now wear only a decorated crown of your memories. A cloak of the hurt hung at the door.

It's time.

I used to always know when I was on the right path by the appearance if a downy woodpecker, a symbol of fertility - my spirit animal. You showed up today in so many ways. Last year it was in the form of a cross.

I have the power of rhythm in my blood. The grand cardinal crossing is happening right now and I've done the work. I put crystals in the woods and allowed the light to pass thru me and onto you.

Freedom.

I will adorn with nourishment and love. I will feed you nothing but potential. Thank you for staying strong enough to carry the weight of loss and for recognizing that it's time to shed your skin and fit back into the you that is strong enough to carry the lightness of love.

Grace.







(Lyrics from Graceless by The National)

"Go ahead, tell THAT story Maryanne; you know - the one no one wants to hear about."

The day after taking down a show is always a weird day...I wanted to wait until it was over to share the meaning of the one assemblage that I created specifically for this show. Not having a lot of time to prepare for this installation and trying to find a reason, a source of substance and inspiration - I thought to myself...god, do you do a show about your dad losing his leg? Shaking my head "no"...Do you do a show about a miscarriage? Shaking my head again, "NO!".

Here's the deal; since I started this journey to be "the artist" I haven't really failed. I also haven't taken a lot of risks. Having been in the business as a Gallery Director for so many years I've had such an upper hand on the business. NOT that I'm boasting success etc..etc..but just that I'm informed.

This is where the other voice, the voice that wants so desperately to get to the next level says, "Go ahead, tell THAT story Maryanne; you know - the one no one wants to hear about. The one that makes people cringe....what does that look like?" I'm pretty sure I'm the one who really doesn't want to see it the most; or deal with it.

See, that's the thing. That's what pushed me to do it. I thought; what if it works? What if you start to feel better...what if you start to heal? Hell - you preach enough about the healing energy of art; fucking walk the walk.

So, I wrote the letter...and it started there:

"I wanted to make you paper dolls. Handmade from vintage paper, cut outs; parts put together by your tiny little hands. Perhaps you would make an arm a leg, a shoulder a shin; just like your mom. Awkward and peculiar. We would string them together and give them glitter dresses, crowns, suits of armor. I would have let you color on the walls. I would have colored with you. I wanted to bring you flowers from our garden and tickle your nose with fairy dust.

I wanted you.

The thought of the pain of losing you exhausts me. How no one understands what that feels like. How suddenly you are alone in the biggest loss of your life. How rage makes you want to rip your skin off, bloody your veins, tack your arm flesh to your shoulders and run around screaming like a blood soaked angel.

You are my angel. The only angel I’ve ever had…for a moment. I was almost your mom. A mom. Then I wasn’t. Then I was me, again, alone, again.

Lie to me. Tell me you love me.

Take my limbs, rip them off; give them away. Leave me alone. Please. I just want to sit here in the dirt digging with ghost arms until the hole fits what’s left of me." 

That was the first letter I had written about it..no draft; it just fell onto the paper just like that.

Paper dolls. The image just kinda stuck with me...I kinda thought about myself as a kid and the things I loved. I would have loved to draw on the walls. I didn't realize it until the show started to go up all of the connections to what I wrote...to the artwork. 

The artwork combines both events in my life...the image of the paper doll has it's limbs floating; they are stitched down onto transparency paper, the heavy metal ring hovers above the missing torso - or where the womb would have been, the swollen belly, the lost baby. The reflection shows what could have been...the hands suspending a very thin string holding the weight of it all...the bullet dropped into a cup below the paper doll...nearby rolled dice. #7; nails floating around the figure; one specifically dance on the rim of the glass holding the die. Everything is barely holding on. Sinew. Fiber. Heart. 

I often wonder if anyone gets me. 

The key was added by a friend who actually does get me. Maybe too much. The show also resulting in a pretty major healing event. To all who shared your equally devastating losses; I hope you felt the healing energy of art...because I can now, also, talk the talk - and believe it. 

In conclusion..and with out going on too much about it all - "leap and the net will appear" is a phrase I have hanging in my work space and is often the push I give myself when I'm on the edge. I am so grateful for this experience, this artwork, this creative journey, the people who believe in me, in their own voice, in the importance of art. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you so much. xoxo

Morning Phase - West Coast hum and East Coast eager

I just wanted to be very present in this moment I am having with music. I've so longed to be back here…where I wake up to you; where you are in sync with my heartbeat; where I again, know my intent and purpose through the beating of your drums. I want to wake up with you everyday, like a marriage that I actually believe in. I want to fall in love with your morning phase – with your West Coast hum and East Coast eager. Sit, listen to the birds. It feels like the way I feel when the first cool wash of the ocean touches my skin. Salted, yet hydrated. 

After the bedding was pulled back or pulled tight?

It's a modern adaptation
as in, I've been there before.
It was not a claim but a fact.
The book, missing a chapter
and in that, misleading - not misread.
Would you have leaned in and told me over
appetizers or dessert?
After the bedding was pulled back or pulled tight?
Perhaps I'll never know?
It isn't I that is presumptuous I assure you.
I am the stranger accident. Heartbreaker.

Talula.
Talula.

"Ran into the Henchman who severed Anne Boleyn".
She said 1 + 1 is 2 and 2nd is a place I'm never in.
We are involved.
It's Word Play. A feud. To slay or be slain?
I thought you wiser than the 2nd line of your message;
all along.