Corey
Oliver Land
I must have turned bright red as I watched him spin, dance and sing.
I must have turned bright red as I watched him spin, dance and sing.
The nineteen year olds in the grocery section who tell me I look like Wednesday are yelling into their walkie talkies.
A ground spinner in the shape of Saturn which promises its rings are sexier than all the emperor’s concubines combined, than all of your wishes fulfilled. Poppers and fountains. I think my boss’s daughter groomed me. Rich kid calling in the help to get on his knees and pleasure his betters.
I didn’t want anyone else’s cynicism rubbing off on me and diminishing the essences’ effects. I knew, I had to believe.
I asked him to bring me some nachos from the mini mart he worked at. We had rebound sex on my futon.
Some spit clogged in my hair and snot dripped down to my mouth.