Twenty-one and all Jesused in. Damn I thought maybe I could get between you and him, push the cross aside and nuzzle your neck. Thought maybe since you were a part time porn star that I wouldn’t wake up to you leafing through the Bible, fingering yourself frantically to the illustrations. Do you really think HE would have composed such a poorly written gossip column? Come on, live a little. Lie a lot. Tell me that we can sleep in Sunday morning and fuck. Me on top of you. You on top of me. Me on top of the world.
When we met at the restaurant with the triangular bar you were throwing back martinis like Satan’s blond step daughter. Now you’re talking of holy matrimony and the Garden of Eden and paradise…my hard on is gone. Paradise is a cold beer on a hot beach as the sun drops like a quarter tossed into a fish tank. You’re too young to be so Jesused in. You’re too young not to travel to all those place in my heart. You’re too old to believe in fairy tales. So let’s start a new. Let’s go someplace, just me and you. Leave him behind and for God’s sake tell me you believe in Dinosaurs…
3 comments:
Steve, this is very reminiscent of a girl I once knew who, dare I say it, wasted her life chasing a man who doesn't exist, to the disappointment of every available man on earth.
Jesus doesn't mow lawns, scratch backs or dry tears.
awesome. i loved it. and people like that just piss me off. (my mom is one of those nuts)
and sleeping in sunday morning and fucking is the greatest. i will never take that for granted again.
My ol' lady is one of those but Jesus
and the cross are nothing but decorations. We agreed early on to
leave all that shit alone and she's
never digging thru the Bible.
Don't know how you do it but your
words rivet me to the page every time.
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