You can see in his swimming and wet eyes
the booze has taken hold. He does not slur his words
he does not tip his head vigorously or without cause
but behind his pupils, or rather, within them, ringed with
grey green color, something has switched.
You touch lightly his left shoulder with your right hand
let it rest there, casually, as a friend. He keeps on
with a story about a story, a story about writing a story
for a class or for fun, his lips large and fast moving
lit jumpily by the fireplace in the corner.
Mostly men lounge on the velvet benches
a chandelier is draped with ribbons and false cobwebs
and clothespins. The bar glows with lights under its counter,
the bartendress floating quickly between
patrons and the booze shelves behind her
a smile set neatly on her round face, a white
towel tucked into the back pocket of her black, tight jeans.
You move your hand toward his neck, pressure increased,
and you sip from the cold short drink in your left hand.
The liquor has released you too,
your shoulders relax, your knees are nice, your smile
easy.
HA! you lean toward him, close enough
to feel his breath but close enough to just listen.
The booze digs down at your gut, opens up,
warms you.
I mean what you want right now, what you've wanted all day is the pressure of someone's mouth against yours, maybe teeth tapping accidentaly and out of need and excitement. What you want is his hand on the back of your neck.
You sat in front of your computer and masturbated for one whole hour. then you slept. then you cried. then you watched tv, then you masturbated again. life is good. life is good. so you want right now. You want his need for you.
you drink more booze. you pour liquor into your mouth.
you sit back and you wait,
exposing your breast to the stars
and asking for something to come along and take it.
the booze has taken hold. He does not slur his words
he does not tip his head vigorously or without cause
but behind his pupils, or rather, within them, ringed with
grey green color, something has switched.
You touch lightly his left shoulder with your right hand
let it rest there, casually, as a friend. He keeps on
with a story about a story, a story about writing a story
for a class or for fun, his lips large and fast moving
lit jumpily by the fireplace in the corner.
Mostly men lounge on the velvet benches
a chandelier is draped with ribbons and false cobwebs
and clothespins. The bar glows with lights under its counter,
the bartendress floating quickly between
patrons and the booze shelves behind her
a smile set neatly on her round face, a white
towel tucked into the back pocket of her black, tight jeans.
You move your hand toward his neck, pressure increased,
and you sip from the cold short drink in your left hand.
The liquor has released you too,
your shoulders relax, your knees are nice, your smile
easy.
HA! you lean toward him, close enough
to feel his breath but close enough to just listen.
The booze digs down at your gut, opens up,
warms you.
I mean what you want right now, what you've wanted all day is the pressure of someone's mouth against yours, maybe teeth tapping accidentaly and out of need and excitement. What you want is his hand on the back of your neck.
You sat in front of your computer and masturbated for one whole hour. then you slept. then you cried. then you watched tv, then you masturbated again. life is good. life is good. so you want right now. You want his need for you.
you drink more booze. you pour liquor into your mouth.
you sit back and you wait,
exposing your breast to the stars
and asking for something to come along and take it.
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