"Old House Metaphors"

                                 Popcorn evenings in front of converter box television corridors. Your mother's house, darkened evenings spread out against night sky horizons. Silent neighborhood thresholds and suburban bicycles. You were babysitting one day amid Summer vacation intervals, I quickly scurried over, derailed upon two-wheeled handlebars. A sixteen speed, (as they used to make 'em) you invited me in to hear casual vague stories amid briskly fanned hallways of 1996. You, a sexy feminine-feline-like fifteen year old tanned-line creature. How meticulously your thighs unraveled lucid mysteries of adolescent desire. I entered god's kingdom too soon, only to be turned away by the juvenile footman.
                              On the crimson sofa I listened abruptly as you described eloquently Julia Robert's performance in "While You were Sleeping", you said you liked it, I believed you. I had to. I remember taking you to the sophomore dance, the first time I ever got stoned on Marijuana. Maintaining an impressive physical portrait, my hands temporarily caressed your firm buttocks. The local boys and I conspired dreamlike manifestations of reality. Euphoria was more surreal and less toxic in primitive decades of high school intuition.
                            These were the days to remember. Ice cream havens and adjacent street barber-shops. Coffee nooks and afternoon outlines. Suburbia slept among languid terrains of slumber. Music was magic amidst nigh time lulls of wondrous surroundings. The neighborhood kids and I yearned and possessed anything we wished for, or so it seemed. I was in love with myself for the last and only time. The folly of existence was yet to graze my fertile naive vision. We friskily drank ourselves into myriad endless awakenings of unawakened folly.
                                Moving along into progressive barbaric eras. I awoke to desperate isolation and futile terror. Years passed beyond recollection exponentially. Where did you reside after my long awaited dismissal? This one bedroom apartment on the city river's outskirt breathes bad tidings of carnivorous torture and odorous rapture. Lust and amphetamines permeated moon lit vestibules leading out to cockroach balconies. In the undeserving year of the famished dragon the elephant remains king. School time luxuries existed only in artificial post-work arenas. On returning home from work with two six packs and a load already tied on, I cursed my narrow one-sided world.
                               Thrown away with loose trash and yesterday's papers. I grew angry and irritable, bitter at the world and my acquired misgivings. Love oh love, do tell what has become of me? The frustrated migrant who frequents these empty solicitous pastures in search of stale striped mystical zebras who once warmed my hungry soul with ancient lust and mythological desire. Perhaps I climaxed too soon? Now I am resigned to leftover cigarette-ends and an empty room. I shall perish along with luminous moons, torn bitten lips pressed to stained glass trimmings. With a nose full of badly-cut cocaine, I pass an old man on the second-story landing. We grimace together with shared understandings of circumstance. He is alone as I am. No one leaves the light on in an old house where nobody lives anymore.