Darkened evening shadows descended gradually down celestial havens of mid-summer complacency. Lackadaisical air-conditioned rendezvous; you and I commenced animated puppy-love beside your stepfather's garbage disposal. Seething sweat-filled concrete swimming-pools of corporeal perspiration; bloodline rashes itched and etched toward dry auburn patterns of rug-burnt July
residential afternoon sofas with me and your family tabby shedding
grey hairballs
onto crimson
furnished curtains
covering early afternoon breezes
sweeping through open screen-windows.
Your mother was an (whore) drunken recluse in her late thirties; scarlet and cushioned living-room love-seats spread fervently out below domesticated corridors. Maternal cookie-cutter innuendos, martini-olive dinner-time cutlery- brandishing your deliberated childhood with 5:00 P.M. Moonlighting chicanery: initiating promiscuous schools of thought between the local Jews, Protestant barbers and already irate Catholic women-man she was a handful before her sister's wedding. She had a razor-sharp shrieking voice that resounded itself way out beyond
remote backyard perimeters, past
city street corners, perpetuating profane gasoline mirages of convenience store nativity. Your pale narrow wrist pressed impatiently to your warm upper-chin in middle class waiting rooms of young adulthood. You childishly wept like an rich man's daughter at unnecessary barmitzvas attended by nonpracticing sentimentalists; I loved how you'd allude to unpleasant periods in your life-as if you endured this time for somebody else
at your own expense
your expensive clothing and
your stale imagination's expanse neglected
to expand
beyond suburban outdoor clothes-lines; recreational apparel hung in late- August alignment and what if
a routine sun's radiance refused to shine tomorrow;
formidably declining itself to us with insidious vengeance like remember when I took a hunting-knife to your stepfather's throat a decade ago on an backdoor kitchen porcelain morning; I took his shitty head by his unkempt hair and bloodily smashed it into the molding floorboards; we were really just emotionally depraved adolescents square dancing amid
midnight gymnasiums of September (never was a cloudy day); I took you home to your parents bedroom while they were on vacation from themselves in Disney Land
or was it Wildwood or
who gives a Fuck?
I do, or did.
We smeared sticky butterscotch on each others bare flesh amid lukewarm avenues of fleshy curves, intricate ridges and sweet aromas; a mid-afternoon ceiling fan breathed Hershey-kissing promises to your tepid asshole in sugary jests of lovemaking and
Fucking.
Then you confided in me surprisingly
that you always wanted to be a man
and I confided in myself
that I was done with you.
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