Fuck a valentine.
It’s all about number one.
Fuck a fake friend.
Someone is dominating me.
For someone who claims to be good with words, I’m really not great at choosing them when I speak.
When someone asked me to meet them at 7.15PM, I said yes.
With hair smelling like coconuts, perspiration veiled by perfume and an unsettling feeling in my stomach, I arrived to the meeting point at 7:28PM.
A text message notifying of my tardiness recieved no reply.
His number connects me to his voicemail, his number connects me to his voicemail, a text message recieves no reply, his number rings. His number rings. It rings.
His number connects me to his voicemail.
It was time to go home.
Russian Circles and their album titled, “Enter”.
Fuck me with an electric guitar and drums.
I was looking at eyes that interested me.
Dressed right, tatted and the eyes met mine.
With no knowledge about how to speak to the opposite sex. He stood right in front of me and we paused.
I had been squinting from the sun hitting my face harshly and remained squinting. He was so close to me that it surprised me and a squint accidently morphed into a threatening eye.
I wish I reacted faster, wasn’t scared and just smiled. I could have even said hi.
THE MOST BEAUTIFUL PART OF A MAN’S BODY
I think it must be there,
Where the torso sits on and, into the hips,
Those twin delineating curves,
Feminine in grace, girdling the trunk,
Guiding the eyes downwards
To their intersection,
The point of pleasure.
- Duane Michals, 1986