Remember when I started smoking? We smoked together. I used to spend the nights on the town and the days walking in the park before Mary Jane infiltrated my world. There were days the sun didn’t kiss my skin and nights the moon never got to meet the sun. We, instead, spent hours on the couch laughing over shotguns and zombies. We shared kisses infused with Hennessy and whiskey. Fresh herb stained our lips. What a life.
Our taste is on the tip of my tongue; our scent lingers on my lips and nose. A tingle remains on my backside to remind me of the way you popped my ass to correct my arch. I want to please you in every way.
I’m feeling antsy in this heat. I should be in the nude. Your hands should be fixed in the crooks of my knees. My knees should be pressed into ribs while your phallus massages my insides. The sound of coqui add to the soundtrack of our love making.
Let us recite our sacrilegious prayer. It’s the one we share prior to commencing congress. You give thanks to our higher power for giving me your rib. I give thanks for the strength in your backbone. Our lips unite after we say ‘amen.’ You’re delicious. Stroke me.
Lay up with me under clouds of weed smoke. Your fingers part my lips while you kiss the other pair.
Drunken with dusty feet, I stumbled to the rooftop with my shoes in hand. The wind whispered, “Jump & you will fly!” To which I replied, “Jump & I’ll surely die.” The cool summer rain soothed my burning skin.
I raise my glass to the people with full resumes & adequate experience yet lack the sheet of paper that exempts them from inferior pay. To Those of us actively hunting for our purpose under the umbrella of others. It’s time to dance in the rain.
There’s something so inviting in the wind. The way it rustles the leaves, kisses my skin, and beckons me to follow its patterns in the sky. Chimes jingle in the distance, reminding me of the twilight sneaking into my window as we cracked our eyes after a night of passion.
If what they say is true, 'Home is where the heart is.' And every time you look around, he's with the same someone else, his heart is not with you.
I’ve been cradling my grief like a newborn baby. He’s mine. No one can see him, no one can touch him, and if he does somehow make it into someone’s view, you can’t tell me what to do with him. Some days it seems he’s getting big and growing to be too much for me to nurture alone. Other days, most days, I manage with him just fine. Today we’re getting ready for work and I pray he behaves himself.