Iceland, the land of Bjork
The candyfloss adjournments having been made,
July became sweat deepening the blue of the sheets to cyan.
Asymmetrical tension, quiver and sibilance
Like a passed message of electricity,
Our bodies playing telephone with themselves
Until this hushed aubade from the shadow of a doorframe.
He decided he needed to don his tweeds and go out for a night of “
pussy snatching.” It was this kind of redundancy that would eventually get him sliced apart by oyster shells on his way to an AMC Theater in Paramus to see 50 Shades of Grey. A mistake, since the porn parody, Nifty Maids at Bay, a film for the chambermaid/guard dog fetishists. had just been released. He was proud to be a breast man, with a healthy lactation fetish, and dreamt of getting his face tattooed on a tit, as a real life tribute to the faces on a milk carton. He was swarthy and diminutive, and liked his women statuesque, blonde and mind numbingly stupid. His last affair, with Constance Squanty, had been a delight due to her lack of object permanence and his consequent ability to actually play “hide the salami” in the appropriate oriface with her believing it gone. Ah, but what would tonight bring?
“Spreading My Invisible Children” #Horny2012