When I settled behind my computer I wanted to write a story too starched to accommodate sex that bordered on phenomenal.

I was walking back to work from lunch when you came to mind, knocking the base off my stomach so all my insides fell down at my feet in a sudden swoop, and my breath caught, broke and toppled down onto my innards, littered on the tarred road. I do not know what that meant.

I started a story not uptight enough so the smell of sweat in your pubic hair and anus quite neglected at every bath wafted in and seeped into my chaste story.

The character I developed took on your features, and ran his new found hands up my thigh, dragging me in too, and so it was you and I, stuck in a semi-stiff story, your hand frozen on my flesh, as my crotch started to grow a heart. I do not know what that meant.

When I settled behind this computer, I intended to exorcise you, silent lover, holding my naked body too tight, kissing me too hard, too long…flinging all unspoken words into erratic actions, that made things uncomfortably new.

I was readying myself for the lonely I saw coming when you sprung from somewhere and hardened my nipples on a hot afternoon while I sat in the sun, reading a book too formal to be the cause. I do not know what that meant.

I started this story on an account of a million words, till you crept in with your contagious silence, allowing only whispered vulgarities nearly unintelligible, echoed moans and breaths in crescendo…emptying my tale of pious vocabulary.

Dear Lord,

I paused here to pray. This much want, this much violent what?…tell me what it means…



  1. *scrolls up to the top of this blog and reads tag line again. . . “finding pieces of myself”*

    Where did you find this piece of self?
    What a read.


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