when it started raining a violent rain, I went out into the yard naked and stretched out on the thick lawn. It was grass that was well cared for. It was a warm, furious rain that came down at a slant on a warm night in July. It was dark. It was not my yard. It was my landlords’ yard. A man and his wife. I stared up into the sky while laying supine, sinking my manicured fingers into earth, and I held on for dear life.
From my bed, I no longer hear the murmur of ambient music on my sound system slyly lulling me to sleep.
Instead, I hear the wind swishing coarsely through the spaces between buildings with the force of a flash flood through a slot canyon.
Branches on the trees are being battered, rapping against my window & grating like the fingernails of hysterical victims craving a safe place.
Things are airborne, but not my memory of you. My memory of you is like the storm itself, knocking around inside my cerebral cortex — a predator threatening to level my limbic system.
She held her Chablis and sipped over her double Ds during her solo lunch at the Vietnamese bistro, placing onto the rim of her glass her two lips plumped with Restylane then fluttering a set of eyelashes worthy of the iconic Marlene, who, coincidental to our little rhyming scheme, had her film debut in 1930. Continue reading “eyelashes fit for marlene”
The webcam chick with the gorgeous face and body and long brunette hair performed for her fans in her bedroom but the real erotic attraction was not her sexual play but the way that her witchy eyes eagerly watched the comments spill all over her computer screen as she unsnapped her bra and slipped out of her thong.
An american girl as wholesome-looking as you please squatted atop a glass coffee table naked in a ritzy contemporary-style home in the suburbs and peed and then slammed down in a stabbing motion a glass jelly suction-cupped dildo that i thought seemed rather appealing — with its fruit stripe- or jelly bean-inspired color scheme — and would actually consider purchasing , but the girl did not state where she had procured it but instead crouched down and inched forward, her feet threatening to give way as if on a soapy tub floor until finally easing herself onto it in all of its see-through multi-colored exquisiteness
As we packed boxes in her bedroom for her to move downtown, the chill track on Pandora sounded like seduction or something like the unimpeded breach of taboo or seeping glops of wildflower honey from a tabletop onto a white-tiled floor in a sterile room or like the dirty downfall of someone stoic or a secret animal or quiet uncaging of a deep-rooted impulse to defy after all like a forbidden undressing or a slow gush relished to the last drop with something unmistakenly lascivious across their lips as they lapped it up.
Loud rap music in the empty downtown Las Vegas parking lot Marco had a boom box going in his car he was taking selfies with his girl on a warm damp cloudy Saturday morning near Mingo’s Kitchen & Lounge like street performers they were having a pop-up party with not another soul around their front and back car doors were wide open to let out the sound.