Friday, March 20, 2009
She was infatuated with the way that I looked. I told her to get a hold of her brains. "Please place yourself in my seat and pervert the wind." Gazing at the dainty shirt of a mouse she put on her condom. These terrot cards are marked and stuffed in my sleeves. Taking them out one by one I slid them under my lip. The cards were made from shells and became a tribal gauge. Staring past my nose pearls began to form as I left dust upon washing my port. Collecting her in my arms like a mollusk quickly escapes into his shell, she had what she needed. Enough arms to bear her weight and stroke her hair, tie her shoes, write her memoir, carry a taco, squeeze a stress-ball, thrust a javelin, plead guilty, pursue a dream, postpone HIV, blister from standing near a steamy moment with a dried up jesus with candida. She sat pissing on a string tied up like a lasso. The string then followed suit and tied itself as a lasso and gave itself to the cowboy. Hooked to my belt. I heard the latch of my buckle clink loose and felt the caress of the damp lasso around the dinner bell. Raising my eyebrow, I looked down, and saw those pearls and swallowed them. I heard my name tapping as an SOS and mistook it as an upset stomach.