sketch four

Part four of something I didn’t imagine having four parts.  I suppose I could end it here.  I’ve no idea where it’s going.  Scroll down and read them in order,  all called “sketch” and there’s three previous.

She ends up at my place. I’m not sure if I pulled something off or if it was her idea.

My whole life through her eyes while she overtly inspects my cave.  She wrinkles her nose and flicks her fingers at the cat box.  Wincing at my messes and squinting at my possessions.

It’s drama, but I don’t care.

I just washed the entire house so with the exception of a few piles I know I’m good there.

She looks at me and demands to know why she’s here.  I remind her she’s here as opposed to just over there.  I tell her I want to sell her a lifestyle.

She takes her time and then she blinks.

I confess I have no idea how she ended up here.

She doesn’t blink again for an hour.  So it seems.

I’d just made a clean sweep of my ingrown toenails.  All four corners of my two big toes.  Dug it all out.  All four corners.  This is big for me.  Usually I get pretty loaded and tear them out.  This morning I’d had enough.  Second best time to tear at your toes is fresh out of the shower.  I screwed myself up and did it fresh out of the shower.  It wasn’t not painful.

It hurt like fuck.

So I was good there too.

Things had deteriorated by then.

Probably because I talked about my toes.  I know it was a mistake.  It’s just that it’s usually such an incredibly painful ordeal that can go on for days, so when you get all four corners in a not unpainful sweep but without substantial bleeding, it feels like a lucky spring day.  A mist and clouds until afternoon.  Not too hot, not too cold, the porridge steams a little in the morning light.

Still, she sits in my lap facing me, topless.  I’m burning with the smell of her sweat under scent.  Hands on naked hips.  We get as far inside each other as we can get and it’s good and sweaty.

I begin to dream of a white T-shirt.  It’s on a man too large.  In my dream I marvel at the whiteness of the t-shirt.  It’s almost blue like from the moon.  Out of place on a torso so substantial.  Levi’s and black boots by then.  Then it’s me and I am uncomfortable in the white t-shirt.  It’s too tight and wherever I touch it, I soil it with my hands.  With my fingertips.  It fits tight around my neck.

It’s what I have left of the dream I was having.  She lies next to me with a cream sheet pulled over her flared waist.  A gold chain glistens across her hips where they’re not covered.  There are rings on her toes.  The end of her landing strip is exposed and I remember the taste because I can still smell it on my hands.  I want her name to be Daisy and it has nothing to do with any woman named that I’ve ever known before tonight.  If I had a flower, I’d put it in her hair.

She arches her back in her sleep and I’m smitten again.  She arcs and the moon settles in and plays one side of her face.  One breast glistens under an exclusive with the light of the moon.

Her skin.  I run my hands over it and it makes no sound.

Not wearing a white t-shirt.

I get back to it.  Dreaming again.  The shirt was gone but it’s back.  It itches.  It pinches and binds and confuses wherever I have hair.  I’m sure I look stupid in it.  I’m wearing it and every important person ever is here.  Old bosses, women I’ve dated and politicians.  I cross my arms and talk to them from over my shoulder.  I want a drink and a cigarette.  I have both but I can’t taste them.  Nothing works and I just want to leave.  I think about Yosemite Sam.  That helps.  I can’t just take the shirt off.  I know I’m dreaming but it’s like I’m being held down.  I’m late for class and I don’t know where it is.

Now the moon shines into the bedroom like it was the sun.  She’s on her side while shoulders and hips curve my horizon.  It’s so bright I can’t tell if she faces me or not.  I think I see a smile but I can’t be sure.  She flops a leg over my thighs and pulls me into her.  Within nothing she is over me and on me, breathing, sucking back spit and I am way inside her, hard as a fucking nail and she is up and down so hard our skins smack.

I wake up and it’s only sun in my eyes.  She’s not here.  I can’t smell her on my hands.

I only remember her perfume and it is fleeting.  Fast.

On the pillow, a pumpkin colored beetle on it’s back and kicking.

I don’t know her name.

Drinks for my friends.

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