World’s Biggest Pussy is standing in front of the mirror wearing an eponymous t-shirt.
Noticing wrinkles, folds, training as medical receptionists today.
Vacuous with insecurities, fear, regret. Wishing to stay home making ceramics instead.
Life defaulting, hope dwindling, circumstances beyond our control, excuses created while time goes by.
The car stereo played something sad, it wept, turning red, bloated, ashamed.
Blue skies rained down.
Dr. Deep burping constantly, looking at words on tits. His vibes unwanted.
Genitals became large and vulnerable.
Her clothing choice, still not work appropriate. Most matters continued.
Gates grew taller, obviously, she would stay.
Townspeople sculpted miniscule dreams alongside strong constitutions,
then spit upon my shadow. He was drowning.
Swimming basins boiled pleasant memories, it felt alright.
This world never heard words like helpful, cunnlingus, postmodernmism.
We got-off alone, only when Silver Springs played.
Matching jumpsuits; emblazoning letters which read, Good Dick Will Imprison You.
Sayings were just metaphors, lets forget about literacy, only drink coconut water.
Fear prevails during enlightenment, together reaching beach.
Vulgar terms landing ashore, littering paradise.
Able found herself weeping inside Alibi. Callahan quasi smiled behind the bar. He disappeared into the empty restaurant. Then returned deflecting all eye contact. She had thought they were friends. Within curious limits of server/drinker. The tears weren’t at all audible. Only visual like a paused actress. Green eyes that searched for approval. Anything to acknowledge she looks beautiful.
Her decision to enter was nearly spontaneous. Tuesdays he always had first shift. Spring’s allure reeked of toxic cheer. A dark place felt more convivial. Previous thoughts were very likely fibs.
Crying harder, he kept ignoring her. She almost remembers why it started. Bumblebee landed on a forsythia branch. Life was perfect, but very fragile. Bystander tendencies. Lousy signs in a potential lover. Betraying her mood, consulting her phone. Wikipedia said, “Ambiguous desperation, slow reaction.” With a paper titled, “Refusal of Modern Apathy, Hope for a Caring Society,” she failed her Sociology class but never told anyone.
Still ignoring. Between refills he perused the bible. What was he afraid might happen? She replayed the voice in her meditations. “We are constructs of cold environments. May all beings live with ease.”
Callahan emerged from the basement hotfooted. His hair had been completely shaved. Brown curls rested atop the keg. Finger by finger he unfurled hand. The touch far gentler than expected. Together rolling hair in their palms. Using hairballs to wipe away tears. Unfamiliar to an intimate experience, he began to cry as well. Kissed by whatever lives in hair. Able forgot all the desperate lines. Truth and Sociology class are irrelevant. Quietly, savoring the minute of possibility. Might the Alibi remain theirs tonight.