Pink Lipped Sunrise

Mardi Gras Publishing, LLC 133 Lake Front Dr. #204 Daphne, AL 36526 This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

ISBN-13 978-1-934329-26-9 ISBN-10 1-934329-26-6 Pink Lipped Sunrise © 2007 by Cara Preston All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Cover art © 2007 by Shirley Burnett For more variety in your reading selection, please visit www.mardigraspublishing.com

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Young Love Oh, to touch his lips again. To feel the same hungry breath returned on her neck, to feel his fingers anxiously touching her skin, and gaze into his eyes seeking meaning. For the same need to feel alive, to feel that the other was 3 D, full of life. Full of the same artistic expression and passion for creativity. The hours passed slowly until the time that she would see him again. Thoughts would pass between them without a single word spoken. Only a look, one that conveyed I missed you… and a wish that over a few days time nothing had changed about the way each felt. And then came another moment, a coming together, an arm encircling a waist, two tongues searching, probing For the returned feeling of sensuality Wet lips, tongues locking Hands roaming Hearts pounding…

1

Pink Lipped Sunrise Pink lipped sunrise giving breath to golden vapors Drifting lavender. gray, pink and blue a seamless sky-stitched sea scrolls ever outwards… Beckoning, calling… My mind, ever cast a dreamy state from a sleepless night. Aroused by a gushing sound stimulated by hypnotic pull of the currents. An undercover undertow… Subtlety but sweetly Drawing me in… Sand ‘neath my feet, sinking with steps, roughness spells a rock garden, grounding me… anchoring my flesh. Yet my spirit soars… free as a pink lipped sunrise…

A Liquid Tease Sunrise woos waves by sending its warmth.

The ripples delight in a back and forth motion. A feathery foam taunted shoreline all night A vain liquid tease perceived as the ocean… Seagrass scattered welcomes birds flying by. Stretching they seek out the sun drenched sky. Shell crusted footprints cluster around. Sand fiddlers chasing their dreams on the ground. The whooshing of waves tickling the shore hungrily lap as they come back for more then exhale again and up comes a crest licking the shore then taking a rest. Two lovers glance back, they leave it behind while memory of shared moonlight comes to mind. Then ocean woos sunrise… So charming Shedding aloofness Completely disarming…

A Branch Bends A branch bends… a response to the thundering herd Mists of water grace a tree which stands the test of time… So many storms, so much water… Cascading, pulsating torrents

drape daunting rocks like silver ribbons. The trees listen, they whistle and sway. Water babbles around stones like schoolgirls with a crush. Froth raises its playful head, the current licks its tongue over jagged spots with rough edges. In a hurry to caress contoured curves of stately rock it becomes a whirling dervish, a swirling frenzy… Fish caught in midstream either go with the flow or fight it forever. Waterfall gazing, mist covered face, water pounds a driving rhythm. Melding as one… tense muscles release. At peace, I draw a heavy sigh…

Pleated Passion Accordian pleats according to who… Palmetto dreams to the very core wore an apple green, fanning out, absorbing the sun like the warmth of your smile. Always a fan, never a foe, encouraged by love responds in new growth

tender yet strong concrete but abstract. Funneling raindrops like lashes do tears. A vein runs through a starting point branching out. Love’s beginning, a wink, a smile, a blooming of sorts explodes into passion quivers in the breeze…

Palmettos Shadow Dance What magic holds the sundown sky awash in royal tones? A paintbrush stroked with royal blue, erotic orange zones. And in-between- a lavender hue that whispers, “Come to bed.” Produces state of calming rest for every weary head. A silhouette of shapely form against the evening sky. A single tree, beside the sea that laps the shore nearby. A rolling dune in shadows there, a curvy image does portray and conjures up a fantasy of a resting lovely, where she lay. A crescent moon suspended high holds secrets of the starry night. Like a wink from up above-

this fingernail of luscious light. With breathy tones- come hither voice, Palmettos shadow dance… The stage is set, for those who woo a sweet shore side romance…

The Stairway Landmarks by day beacons of light by night always there, like a quiet reassurance. A succession of stairs like so many rites of passage. wrought iron, stately, Victorian, cool to the touch. Casting light at nightfall, making the way clear for those who stroll by heat of day or cool of night. A mist lingers, kissing the metal, leaving its whispery trace of dewey wetness behind. The whispering wind whistles through a crack in the lamppost glass and branches crack and pop as a slight breeze blows. A voice is calling, faintly in the distance. someone heading to the top of the stairs

stops to listen but sees no one. It isn’t until the journey to the top that the voice becomes more clear and the trip is now complete. It is a voice he has heard all along but knew not the source from which it came, yet it is clear… He glances back down. the lampposts are pointing the way even though it is daytime and they burn not yet he sees someone in the mist… It is her… he hasn’t seen her in real life, only in dreams, sometimes faceless yet very real. He always saw her always almost reaching her to catch a glimpse of her face And then the subway or bus in his dream would pull away, leaving her once again faceless. Then came an answer, his dog bolted, ran down those steps like crazy, headed straight for her dog. Two needy souls being walked by their dogs on a misty morning, up a flight of steps by some stately lampposts…

Dreams of Savored Sweetness Pineapple studded tablecloth, a teal green scarf draped casually cascading down the side showcasing succulent fruit; apples, pears… nestled, hips touching. A bowl, more nestled pears… a small grouping oblivious to the still life sitting nearby. Three chalices with plums served with malice or plum tickled?.. Because three is a crowd. unless you are a pup. Excited, shivering lapping milk from a communal pan twelve legs six ears three tongues quickly lapping licking sometimes sliding along the smooth satiny surface of the rim Splashing the wetness in their haste to be satiated. A shared thirst, resulting in a silent hum, unheard by anyone else around. as the milk is gobbled up And each pup is content once more

to stretch out and sigh……. and dream sweet dreams that puppies have where they once again lap the milk smell its sweetness and relive it once again.

Vapored Breath Vapored breath met breeze that rouged my cheeks a scarlet red. Crunching underfoot, I rest myself on rough hewn post. Gazing off into a deep blue realm that goes past the shuttered eye, clouds float by mimicking the white that lay

underfoot. A Douglas fir taunted by gusts shakes its winter coat like a dog shedding water. Crystal branches reach for sunlight like tiny fingers grasping a hand. Heavy limbstop heavy maidens threaten to snap and pop what girders beneath. Taking gloved finger I lightly trace initials in powdery snow and those of a love... a wind blows it away like the sands of time but lingers in my memory.

Unleashed Kaleidoscope of outstretched hands a slice of life adrift for days seasoned and soaked caught on top sun kissed but drained debris strewn but colorful fall’s treasure and nature’s bounty, unleashed and spent…

So Close and Yet So Far Away Spoon like nestling, grasping fingers of rough hewn driftwood reach for a swirling shell spun out of control.. So close and yet so far away… Smaller shells tend court, one encasing sandnot merely content to rest on grains alone. A vessel of sorts, shells of different shapes, footprints warm and drifting… Nature bears the secret and reads between the lines.

Rocky Rendezvous Fur touching fur with downcast eyes unsure, crouching the other stares forward, protective, foreboding surrounded by a wash of brightest blue. A sea of emotions Encased in white fleece. Roughened hoofs grasp tight with a vengeance. Trembling and timid, closeness of another comforts and calms. The view inspires and frightens. A hoof slips slightly, tremors run amuck. A gentle nudge from the side reassures and readies the journey down. Loose rocks break away balance nearly lost, she leans closer. Two bodies pressed together, thoughts of danger slip away. Two horns and a watchful eye guard his territory and her… Breathing in unison, the sun soaks into ivory colored coatsa lofty perch, their rendezvous.

Reining it in or Keeping it Out? The path I'd trodden many times before same clay dirt same sweet smell grass after a misty rain I know it well. The breeze tickles leaves plays with locks of hair as a haze settles, a distant tree cast into role of green cloud tall and proud. Splintered posts stand like so many dominoesone touch and they all fall down. They point the way to parts unknown although the road is familiar the lingering mist kisses it with mysterious passion barbed wire fashions a silent reining in or keeping out... gently sloping, mesmerizing walk down a country road. The whispering mist leads me on... without doubt... I follow

There's Majesty in Sunrise There’s majesty in sunrise, a royal fire bursts forth over treetops It shines like a sounding trumpet bright and brassy over a glassy sheen Armrests wait to be graced by early risers toting mugs of rich, creamy lattes...

steam rising, creature comforts hand warming, thought provoking cups to sip while inhaling the brew hazelnut and vanilla fill me I absorb an awesome view... A pair of chairs Not one... but two sit in hopes that a few lovers will come and stay a while have sweet small talk give Cupid his due... Cause its sunrise, time for fresh chances morning romance and a time for all things new.... 'cause there's majesty in sunrise...

Kiss and Tell Moss laden branches overhead Hang a hazy wash of green. In the distance, the house from my dreams same antebellum lady with shuttered eyes long seductive columns veranda begging me to come have a mint julep. Black wrought iron fence, framed by Spanish moss that whispers to me from the trees... Overhead a cloud rolls in, a teasing thunder in the skies A sense of calm changes into another mood. I blink my eyes, and see soldiers on horseback riding past the columns,

looks of frenzy on their faces, while bustled ladies with tightened corsets, overflowing bustiers lean over open windows, with last farewells ... Glancing again I find gnarled and bent branches trying to kiss and tell the stories they have seen. With baited breath, I stand in silence and listen...

Jewel Toned Gloves Like laughing young girls wearing jewel toned gloves, the frost kissed leaves, hinted of deep autumn colors that lie beneath… Rust, burgundy, deep gold… frosted before losing the innocence of deep color, tickled by long blades of icy green. A shadow box of sorts, preserving spring days.

Breeze blown summer and a carefree fall… Frozen like laughter spilling from lovers as they sought refuge from a summer rain, chasing squirrels stealing nuts and making a bed out of rustling leaves lying underfoot.

Frondly Yours Springing forth fresh and eager like puppy tongues lapping at milk. Windblown, delicate, a signature touch, Frondly yours, a fern handshake passing muster like aged music now yellow. Gentle reminder that time flies…

Exposed Spring recital… Fragile limbs A ballet dancer Waved in the breeze wearing delicate blooms whispering softly sending chills up my spine scratching ever so slightly the bark of a steadfast sentry standing nearby Unmoving, proud aware of the Graceful presence layers of the past peeling away revealing the inside raw, exposed…

Dream Catcher Like spider veins of gnarly wood no branches alike. Casting shadows, breeze shivering, ripple watching, sand drifting, sun soaking. Grayed skies touching down over laidback waves of golden hue. Footprints linger hours past.

A couple laughs and scatters sand, leaving behind a special spot hollowed out. Shadows cast, framed by branches like spider veins, a lacey web encases the sun…. captured by the dream catcher…

Drifting Wood A boat drifts out, eyes on the horizon, fingers caress ripples. One reaching out to touch a branch, grasping hold of what’s drifting away. The current moves on, fingers lose grip, splinters find flesh. A breeze blows, Tossing hair into eyes now misty like rain. Stumps protrude a danger in sight skirting that spot like an albatross yet grasping for wings now flapping away…

When They Study an Artist An amazing painter she was an artist to the bone with an artistic flair for seeing women of the world not only for their physical beauty but their inner charm as well... A gallery showcasing her work draws you in... Painting after painting hanging on the walls. Glowing countenances of women from the US from China from Haiti from the Ukraine and many more... women and their stories very alike and yet very different... standing and looking at each one gazing into their eyes... sparkling blue, flashing green, a soft doe-like brown... wondering what it is that they see each day as they go about their lives what they encounter, how they deal with it. Are they in pain or full of joy? How sensual are they do they have the love of their lives or are they just going through the motions what’s on their minds when they go to bed at night when they get up in the morning when they look in a mirror, when they study an artist.

First Kiss Hot sand beneath my feet, pounding heart beneath my chest I see him. Wind blowing his hair across his face Suntanned, long and lean, he strides toward me. Sweet and sixteen, I wait and dig my toe through the sand. He leans toward me, pressing his lips to mine. For one moment, sea, sand and sky are a swirling blur. White capped waves curl up under the pier. Graceful seagulls circle, flapping their wings overhead above two who are totally unaware. As my innocent heart is anchored in the sand by a magical kiss that comes after no other.

Lest the Spell be Broken It was as though no one else was around them. His arm around her neck, lips planted firmly. Her right arm hangs loosely by her side fingers drooping, seeming to drop all caution to the wind. His left hand captured in midjourney, fingers extended in a grasp formation, just waiting for his left foot to swing around so he could cinch her waist. Her back arched, she stands, melting under his fervent kiss. Four eyes tightly closed as though holding in the moment forever, lest it should pass and the spell be broken…

Mask They say there’s treasure in piñatas that’s made from paper mache I wanted to be special too so hence the mask each day. Should be good for shrinking pores maybe this mud will even hide some of the pain I feel at times while keeping tears inside. My moustache looks like a brush left out overnight like a horse put away wet then looks a dreadful sight.

The only color showing here are my eyes so blue. Does she even notice them or notice someone new? Does she see the man inside or a fixture in the house Does she search my heart and soul my ever loving spouse. My skin takes on a pasty tone belies a fire for days unstoked and yet it kindles raw begs to set ablaze. My hair is pale and eyebrows too while passion’s in my soul. My countenance pales in contrast to creative fire so bold. Perhaps one day by happenstance she’ll see past this mask and fan the flame, my stately dame… that’s for what I ask.

Mixed Media A hodge podge of cardboard and letters, assorted shapes and sizes congruent only in that they are being reused. Nothing wasted, not a piece. Making out a word… “Pioneer” appears much as the art itself, a pioneer in its own right… another image surfaces…

“Frozen Foods… Ice Cream… “ Tempting thought… Edges rounded to the sign like the tasty lick of a scoop. A red cardboard cutout resembling the eye of a stove… Better to heat you with my dear… An Apostrophe… for quoting the unquotable… Some red and white borders for keeping things reined in… but is it possible?… A spiral grid, looking like a grill top for cooking steaks…. Staking a claim on the spiral spin of geometric attraction…

Night Fishing Me and sister here rode our bikes out to the pond, You see, there were these fishermen of which she’s rather fond. We knew they’d be there… and they were… fishing to their hearts content. Only thing was, one fished with a pitchfork. Never saw such a sight in my life. Must have caused the fish such strife, him fishing like such a dork… His buddy perched on that big black lily pad the only water craft that they had

even hitched a trolling motor to it. So anyway, there we stood, bikes in hand looking at this crazy fishing man stabbing away, fish bloody, losing an eye when he looks up.. sees us standing nearby. My tongue licking this sucker of sorts.. Sister gave it to me I don’t ask questions So like I said before, he looks up sees us standing there and the big sun flying off in the distance like a big orange kite jabs at the fish one more time and says “Hey Biker Babe with looks divine, my name’s Moby, what’s yours?” Sister and I look at each other and laugh. How could we not? He’s out there fishing wishing for fish and now wondering what else he has got… cause we’re night fishing…

Go Paint Yourself (inspired by Norman Rockwell’s Triple Self Portrait) Don’t tell Mom but my drink is on my coffee table book without a coaster There’s a smoldering cigarette in the trashcan and there’s something stuck to the bottom of my shoe. You guess it’s source… I don’t want to…

In spite of slovenly ways of mine there is pride in my work a bird of stance atop my mirror a helmet formed of Nordic gold a chair bottomed with cane so old. Bristled brushes of quality superb scattered round my feet attest to the fact that to get the best work you have to have the best to work with… just ask a goldsmith… A large canvas, fresh and white Ripe with potential for beauty begs to be released from its flat lined appearance to be visually molded with rich life as though shaped and honed with a potter’s knife… Into this mirror I peer deeply into a face I have known for so many years I look not into my own eyes although eyes are the window into the soul for I seek my image, my likeness to unfold… Same blue velvet so soft to touch same graying salt and pepper shock of hair same pipe, to be secure same bow tie at my neck… None of this changes, as I inspect… My likeness, though painted is kind to myself and paint myself younger it looks like a pen and ink and flatters me in the right light, I think… Some of the masters I have tacked up for inspiration at the corner… Van Gogh is among them That ear thing always bothers me I’m just speaking honestly… I shift on my stool just a bit,

someone came into the room bringing me an ice cream cone. Now how shall I finish my current action pending such a tasteful distraction… It melts sitting atop a table over there I’m looking into the mirror now and seeing her hold it behind me. My gaze is not presently intent on myself But on an ice cream holding sweet self… My glasses have become fogged up the room must be steaming. Suddenly this creative urge is teaming with desire… and yet I must complete this expression while ice cream waits and drips to my depression… With brush in hasty hand and crafty fever I detail next my neck and bust as frozen dairy concoction runs down as it waits for me to stop and partake and then eureka, it screams… just have a milk shake… Perhaps enjoy it later than I had planned and so complete the task at hand and finish always to complete what I have started despite the cost, despite the sacrifice but boy that cone sure looked nice…. Maybe if I just take one little lick… What painting… Here portrait… Go paint yourself…. Triple Self Portrait… I have a date with a triple scoop … And the one holding it…

Well, just call me Norman Rocky Road…

Finding Facets Two dozen X’s and no O’s What a shame… but no, wait a minute… there are some little ones down at the bottom all a pretty blue and green shade… Stained glass awash with color peacocks, a glittery showcase strut their stuff with pride flanking roses sweet and dewey despite the thorns that are on the side… Royal purple, a bright fuschia an amber color catches the sun like scattered jewels lying in an ocean’s wake. Each faceted deeply, reflecting light each and every one. Like a crayon box ripe with smell new images to convey. Bidding new birth each September promising an explosion of crisp color Every stroke, always to remember… Twin panels with an Oriental flare beauty preserved, contained… frozen in time and space bordered with a filigree of glass a form of hand blown lace… Topped with crescents of sheer design a fruit bowl at the very center… a kaleidoscope of orgasmic swirls

beckoning for the sun to shine through and let its utter opulence shine anew… The sun’s rays enter and touch each color and each one comes alive shimmering, beads of anticipation strengthened by the celebration and driven by the fuel that drives the royal pair to show its stately beauty. Awash with stories within itself each shard, each measured piece part of an intricate puzzle, yet fitted instead… joined by molten lead. Girded by copper, given the test of time gazed at with envy for its beauty serving both form and function but form winning out with its riveting shine and shading sublime… Just hanging there waiting for the light to catch its beauty and make it glow with its intended prisms, finding every nook and cranny of potential luminosity….

Thoughts are Golden My thoughts are 14 carat gold they run down the length of my face shimmering, glowing reflecting the feelings that I have inside. My thoughts are formed by letters with care they join hands and make sentences that expose me like a raw nerve

to the world outside. My thoughts are like beacons in the night like a siren’s song either pulling some near or causing some to change course My thoughts are something I usually store inside sitting on them, ignoring them not allowing myself to feel them until given permission to air them like golden curls… My thoughts are sometimes tangled Like a scrunched hairdo that is wet, without combing not separating things in my head having everything knotted up together. My thoughts are calmed by culture the art, causing me to see beauty and balance The music making my heart either race or calm down the words… seducing me with their charm… My eyes are closed… but I see possibility like the affirming words that crown my head. My shining lips store up promise and hope for another day… My thoughts are now focused… The sharing of my feelings is liberating… I hear music that no one else can hear, see art swirling in my mind’s eye… Close your eyes…. And share your thoughts…

Can I Turn Them Back? Can I turn back the hands of time to the day before you told me something that'd make you hold me at arm's length... can I turn them back... can I turn them back to the day when you could say something that would roll of your tongue as smooth as silk without a minute's hesitation... without a tinge of a sensation of guilt.......can I turn them back.... when you felt less like you lived in a fish bowl... when your spirit/concealed made you feel bold.. when you freely revealed to me some thoughts that were in your soul... can I turn them back…

Opera House Turquoise span against azure skies, white crescents, looking as though they could set sail. A hazy glow of lights around the waterfront. the crowd assembles. The opera is about to begin. Silence falls. The only sound that is heard is the ebb and flow of waves nearby. People shuffle their programs a sprinkling of people clear their throats. The surging pulse of orchestra thunders in the pit below making the audience keen

with anticipation for the opera that’s about to begin. Only for the die hard opera fans. You can always tell those who aren’t among the bunch find them asleep lightly snoring or sometimes not. The orchestra’s tone reaches a quieter note. as singers assemble onstage. The cast includes a married couple perhaps not quite so happily Well, maybe sometimes… enter a few distractions fairly innocent and yet… still a distraction… The opera begins the love song between the couple begins strong and during the presentation goes through hills and valleys, the distractions serving as a support system, alongside, singing in harmony… unbeknownst to everyone else but still a support. The leading lady sheds a tear and mentally turns at times from her sire… The distraction just in the wings he approaches from the side singing a seductive song She bids him hello. and tells him things. At times she looks intently Into his soul… And sees his face fluctuate from lust to real caution and back again..

At times her song, she fills with words like thou shalt worry not for I shan’t call upon thee house nor shall thee find me upon thy doorstep put thy heart at ease although I sayest things to flatter thee thou shalt not find me impulsive nor of danger. The one who comes in from the wings looks both flattered and relieved. He chooses not to cause trouble but help someone in need. Nothing more Nothing less. The orchestra’s pitch rises to a crescendo and the opera comes to a climax, reverberating through their bodies As the bass sounds out deeply. the cast takes a bow. Is the opera over? Was there any real end to the plot? It is left to the imagination… Some say that many things are better left that way… Just keep ‘em guessing…

What Lies Beneath Pulsating velvet Expanding stretching rising for flight Different stages for different ages… A split personality of sorts

the yellow childlike innocence opposite the purple knowing ways One balancing out the other one urging the other to stay the course Stay in line Stay inside the box… The other side urging to spring for spontaneity go for the gusto live this life like it’s meant to be lived… ‘cause it aint no dress rehearsal and nobody knows where your happiness really is… but yourself… the head shudders the caged butterfly takes flight which side will dictate… if it is wise… it will listen to both its head and its heart and destiny will chart its path as laid out in some intricate plan in the great beyond…