poolside, peeling the cellophane off of strawberry fruit roll-ups. humid = growing up in the
deep south and sweating uncontrollably all the time. sweating = making out with a girl at junior
prom, feeling a little bit strange about the whole ordeal, not calling, not returning to pick up
the bowtie that i'd left, on her front lawn of mid-class-grass fried up brown by alabama sun, in
hasty retreat. "what are you thinking about?," she asked. how i hate that question.
gonna fuck me, pushed up
against a door with my legs
nudged by knees apart. c'mon
man, it's too big for me. "no
it's not." i .. <insert
stuttering here> ... "there's
only one way to find out, now
isn't there, boy."
i. (e, second space from top, bass clef) can't control! the soul
flowing in me! does anyone else think that erykah badu
sounded like lady miss kier when she sang that in apple tree?
"don't worry, i know what i'm doing." sweating = which painter
was it that did the same scene over and over again. "it's only
gonna hurt for a second. you'll love having this big dick inside
you." till he got it right? got right it till he it got till he
right right he it till got
for some reason i think about
being a boy and about sex in
almost the same breath. i didn't
become sexually active until i
was 19, but a lot of my early
experiences even then, and still
now, have a big element of me
being taken as young, green,
new. i can't count how many guys
ask me if it's my first time.)
my chapped lips saywhat. what? what. devotion, self-neglect, all the important cause and
effect links, embracing unembraceable you, mean whiskers.