A Pen's G-Spot

I want to eat your brains stick a straw in and suck it all up. Ears were made with holes for a reason and it's the giving season. I've been drinking and I've been talking. I've been drinking and I haven't been doing a lot of walking. I've been drinking so please bear with me. It's only three AM But I feel like I've been up all night. I would be off on a brisk 5 AM walk in my peacoat and moccasins. But right about now, I'm playing with my kitty cat. I hope he's smart enough not to want me. I'm not ready to truly want myself. I hope he is smart enough to let me walk away from him. Because he is the most benignantly human being a human can be. I'm hung up on this whole human thing if you can't tell. Up to the point that I am consciously telling myself that I am a writer and art comes at every moment --whether that be at the botanical gardens experiencing a mutual love for one another and t...

"Come back to bed," he groaned. She sat facing the door in silence. "Baby please," turning his face towards her back. She turned and blinked heavier than a toppling building. He moaned, closing his eyes. And she crawled along the floor, stretching her finger tips between the carpet fibers. "Come here," his smile slid across his face. She waited for him to close his eyes before one limb at a time rested at the far corner of his bed. His toes shifted. But her toes barely brushed his as she lengthened her spine. He stretched his limbs across the mattress. Her stomach skimmed his bare skin in her attempt not to wake him. He rolled over towards her shyness, her cowardly approach. Her chest tickled his chest hairs. Her morning breath licked his upper lip. First her hips, and then her arms, rested onto his forearm. He kissed her hairline with little hairs snickering in his nose. Her petite body fit within his corporeal cradle. ...

There are things that my mother and I don't talk about. We don't talk about intercourse. We don't talk about marital vows. We no longer talk about where I stayed at night or what I did while I was over there. She never mentioned her first abortion but I never asked her how she felt about her second abortion. She never asked me about my first abortion. But we did talk about sex during your period which entails the butt... there are things that I simply do not talk about. I guess its called growing up, when there is less communication but more awkward silences in between phone calls and errands. I guess growing up is playing catch up with all of the things we end up falling behind on, like dreams. I am proud of my mother for having dreams. I am proud of my mother for attempting to enhance her English --she has taken up listening to Colorado Public radio filled with news. But she had other dreams.  My mother dreamed about having a family. I never understood her...