Posted in Non-Fiction, Poetry

timing is everything

I have only ever been to sex parties
that are positive; there’s no pressure
to slide it in if you’re feeling like a corpse.

it’s more about meeting nice people and
constructive discussions about why our dollar is really crappy.
That’s not to say that you can’t rip off
your clothes and get real “progressive”…if you know what I mean.

One time, this guy
I’d made eyes at across the room
at a few prior functions, just straight up tossed me into a wall.
He was aggressive.
A real animal.
Not the kind you would immediately
picture though, more like a
thirsty emu or maybe an iguana
with really dry skin: he drank me right the fuck up.

It got so wild I knocked out his fake tooth.
He didn’t even flinch. In fact, he never
even asked for it back—I still have it
in a leather pouch on my spice rack.

If I was ready to expand into different sectors
of adult life, I’d probably have his kid.
He really is just that good of a dude.

I guess this is what people mean by “timing is everything”:
I’m just not ready to restrict my bedroom to hockey pool transactions.

Even if his tongue is bifurcated.



Trying to find the right words.

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