I looked deep into her eyes, eyes I knew a lot about, but whose deep shimmering blue held a lot more for me to unearth and cherish.
I said,
“Let’s grow incontinent together.”
The second prior to me saying these words and her processing them was the last time she ever looked at me as though I were an adult, a friend, anything resembling a human.
Three minutes prior to that was the last time we had kissed.
Had I known things were going to go sideways, I would have paid more attention to the details:
her breath, her lips, her tongue, her hips in my hands.
All of those little details that take one’s breath away and make the small and wispy arm hairs tingle and rise to the majesty that is exploding all over the brain.
My buddy told me later after I had relayed the story to him that I should probably work on my approach, that my “game,” if you will, could use a little work.
That proved to me that he had a severe neurological disability, possibly even shit for brains, because I have CRAZY game. Of all things in this world, this is the only thing I know for certain. Everything else is merely a sneaking suspicion, a low down dirty feeling, or a flat out fabrication.
And after a day or so of darkness and malt liquor, it dawned on me that she wasn’t the one… “The One.”
Anyone who can’t commit to uncontrollably shitting her pants with me as the years grow long in the tooth obviously isn’t the girl for me.
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Currently Listening to:
Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra and Tra-La-La Band
13 Blues for Thirteen Moons
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4 comments:
wow, that shoulda worked. well, maybe next time you should say that line as part of a longer poem. maybe you didn't go far enough through time. (you know, whisper something about two skeletons rotting under the earth, holding hands, their adult diapers outlasting the flesh in decomposition..) is she a religious gal? throw in some stuff about pearly gates and golden slippers, clouds and unicorns. just in case.
Dude, your game is like my Rock of Gibraltar. My touchstone. My lodestar, if you will. The only thing I can count on in this crazy, world, the only constant, is your unwavering, undeniable, unbelievable gaminess. But seriously, I love you and because I love you I need to suggest that what you should really be listening to in times like these is Air Supply. I can hook a brother up, if you need.
ALSO...I am so happy to see that you've changed your "About Me" blurb. I'd had it up to my tits with your whining about the weather. (Get a coat and an umbrella and suck it up already!) I of course still have a suggestion for improvement ("constructive criticism," I like to call it, also know as "being a bossy bitch"), which is that you should work "1.21 jigga whats?!" in there somewhere. It's a meta-pop-cultural reference. Also, you need to update those "Interests" because now I am clearly one of your two readers, and I expect to be "shouted out"to accordingly. Or else I will stop leaving this retartedly long comments. And I know you pretty much live for them and them alone at this point. I'll check in tomorrow. Thanks in advance.
Unca J.- I tend to get jittery and wordy, so there was a conscious effort to slim it down. Didn't work. I like your suggestions though and will make notes. The next one is getting a War and Peace-sized bomb dropped.
Amanda- You flatter me with your flase accolades, but I accept them knowing that we all need a clown to learn how NOT to do things from. I will not resort to Air Supply. Times are NEVER that dire. And the Jiga- thing in a Whodini quote, from their classic "I'm a Ho" from before you were even born, so if I were to slip in a Doc Brown reference, it would be a meta-meta-pop-culture reference... and I don't even know what the fuck the "meta-" prefix means, but I don't like the sound of it.
Changes will be made as per your demands. I accept and offer you a "Your Welcome" in advance.
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