You breathe
huskily
in my ear
and I know
how you want
things to be.
You, me on the floor,
in your bed. We’ll
watch the afternoon
slowly drain from the
sun. Me wet from the
storm of your kisses.
Bulldog erotica
Fallin’ out
Margaret Cho once said, “When I see children, I…feel…nothing. I ovulate sand.” After a day of substitute teaching, I can’t agree more.
Blooming
Funny how
brunch becomes
a sampling of silks.
A stop too good to be missed
When the train skips my usual stop, I start counting, trusting I won’t get down to one before I can exit the underground and be on my way.
Four eyed monsters on the 2/3
It appears Brooklyn is the place to be on Saturdays. Cade and I returned via the running 2/3 (yay, MTA!) to attend the free Target First Saturday at the Brooklyn Museum. Yep, just Museum. It’s an art museum, but Brooklyn’s kind of unassuming, you know.
David Blaine’s pruny ass
Like most people who live in New York City, I’m not from New York City. In fact, I almost couldn’t be farther from it.
Freckles
Imagine a smooth lake of skin. Now think of how the sun appears like a friendly stranger and little brown fish swim to the top of the lake to see him. This is how the melanin suddenly breaks away from the other cells it has been huddling with all winter, and my new, rather returning freckles suddenly appear. The freckle is not a migratory beast. It has been in the same place for months and months, waiting for today.
Spring is in the everywhere
The mechanical bear from the second picture lives outside an Upper West Side toy store. It propels its iridescent bubbles down Columbus Avenue, and yes, it actually dips the wand into bubble fluid in a metal bowl and then brings the wand to its mouth. Brilliant, I say!
White, white wine
Last night I discovered a national treasure - an Upper West Side Chinese restaurant that serves free white wine with every meal. Upon being seated, you’re told, not asked, “White wine, yes,” as the server puts the glasses and a full carafe on the table. Each time Cade poured a glass for me and then himself, our server - whose features and mannerisms began reminding me more and more of a sugar glider - would immediately refill the carafe.
