“How was your weekend,
What’d you do?”
“Nothing.”

The quiet evening.
“What’d you do?”
“Nothing.”

The walk together.
“What’d you do?”
“Nothing.”

The passing touch,
The fingers twined,
The gentle kiss,
The knowing smile.

The clothing folded,
The flowers tended,
The shared repast,
The hearts we mended.

“How was your weekend,
What’d you do?”
“Nothing.”

Thanks for nothing.

One day shall be end-of-days for all of us.
One day is end-of-days for each of us.
Most days are end-of-days for some of us.
This day can be start-of-days for all of us.

Two households, both align in new craving,
In coffee houses, where we lay our scene,
From ancient sludge break to novel braving,
Where civil bloods brew concoctions from beans.
For as these foes in strife fight and inveigh
A pair of Starbuck’s lovers take their life;
While Juliet likes Pumpkin Spice Lattes
Romeo’s dark roast dependence is rife.

Is there a law without a crime?
There’s gravity in that thought.

“I am who I appear to be,”
Said the man.
“Only most of me does not appear.”

“I am who I appear to be,”
Said the god.
“Only most of me is not apparent.”

“Ah,”
Said the man.
“You and I are not so different.”

“Yes,”
Said the god.
“And no.”