more of it.

On display bananas, in high school wrote my number, black sharpie on yellow skin, so bold of me, gave it to a boy I barely knew, once he peeled it he called never stopped calling, bending in mouth I can’t eat them without laughing, Ziploc baggies packed with nuts, apples Fuji Macintosh two for a buck, score! grapes buy freeze wait till morning, candy in the icebox, trust me Rene Zellweger does it says they trick her sweet tooth every time and she looks like she doesn’t eat anything but egg whites grapefruit water. Catching my attention papayas lay orange under my reach radiating ripe earth newly plucked soft scoops of tasteless beta-carotene confidential laxative eat after protein and nothing will stick to bones helped weight remain hovering in little bitty hundreds a few months luck of the draw and I achieved two digit number, remember those? all five nine of me, people worried I was on my last heartbeat that I would die resembling a prepubescent boy. I am better now, every day spent sensibly, psychotic patterns of anorexic lessen, granted skin turned cantaloupe orange around ears palms beneath nose looked like self-tanner splats, child’s art project, big mess, ridiculous disaster, which was me. Still fiendlike for them though, encouraged by effect or taste I cannot be sure but seven dollars later it is mine, bought, handed over like gold, knee almost collapses pathetic display that would be starving girl near crash death papaya rescued heart cushioning her fall all she had to save her. Wow heavy as a log! “much better taste” the assurance I need from the man in a canopy of light. 

Where to go from here? Happy hour isn’t yet four to seven “manmosa” pint of mashed fruit drowned at bottom in pool of champagne or so they claim probably no better than sparkling wine but I am far passed embodying ego for complaining, ten dollars buys you happiness need for nap and hangover before time when practical people, that select group who has their shit together, are beginning nighttime life, I can’t drink alone anyway will feel like Halloween take two, lower east side “the spot” Plan-B outpouring of holiday enthusiasts high on tootsie rolls fear factor acid still soaking tongue and I am just slumped over dressed as myself because for once in my life I just want to be me drinking a Black Russian breasts smashed on bar counter alluding dairy makes bones calcified strong cleavage illusion! posture straight and these utters are just hanging out but I am confident in some corner of myself, alone on Halloween in staring contest with bartender, multitasking taking straw small and impotent, a disservice for sucking, have it touch glasses’ rim, an over determined circling, he would know, wasn’t even drunk but it had been done before, placing remnants of this vocal gesture on my tongue, swallowing what he had mixed, eyeing him thank you, this is exactly what I need, which is a lie but he would find me follow me home mesmerized by my way “amazing how you can be alone, call the shots, confidence, so sexy in a woman, few like you, makes me mad, most unique” last part makes me think he has a sense of humor in place of brains, I immediately lose interest forget to edit what I say or do it all becomes a story I can pass down a bedtime tale a game, Go Fish Scrabble or Marco Polo, close eyes I’ll hide find me, figure me out, he was either a genius, soul-mate or victim of me, unavoidable contradiction, having all this hope inspired by idealized image of who, me? exterior encouraging expectations of interior, you’re over-thinking, when all I cared about then and there was avoiding holidays spent absolutely alone. 

Taking advantage of achievement I let loose like gas tanks filled vacation time! haven’t partied in months we could die tomorrow behavior, crazy in bed, my finger between his lips, not what he thought I liked, having to show him what I want, what I need. Ass cheeks hanging out of underwear similar image would be padding in a cheap bra, how suddenly it exposes itself and more blatantly the secret, woops! except I’m au natural no imitation meat on me, hells nah! this derrière is what I call my pantry, you know, where any processed food is stored, most curvaceous feature, can’t even hide it in the dark, why some men say “baby I’mma call you back”, hey I’m game for wordplay whatever makes me pause, think, laugh. So I’m there all skin nothing to unhook, no more visible surprises, but he’s still clothed all because I won’t help him unbutton unzip, and I’m beginning to wonder whether he’s “that type” you know who keeps things real private or maybe he has some secret, a disease? a vagina? a boil? Naturally reacting I stiffen, lock jaw, funny taste in mouth, pretend to be harder to get than I, well then I was just moments before, shattering night’s speechless erotica with words that effectuate ear echoes, something pulsating with narcissism or if it helps anyone like me less may have sounded like ego-love, not verbatim but close to “this is when I act passively so strip or stay generic”. I wasn’t even trying to make sense, I was just avoiding how I felt. Scouts honor, he keeps himself dressed, undeniably he looks good gorgeous Kenlike but come on haven’t we all played doctor on our barbies before, the memory arouses me so I kiss him again, enjoy it too, rubbing the tension till he is tenser, his mouth muttering hopeless hissings, in my mind salacious stories cycle, his hands tearing sheet’s skin, lashes blown back, pupils big as an O, trying to tell me something but I am all up in my mind, can’t hear much over all the thick tension, sure if it were skin on skin I may hear him but not with all this rubbing. Then suddenly, as in every instant is its own time, his body jerks and I almost panic thinking, “his heart has been attacked but oh friends and family, he was still so young and tame”. Checking for a pulse, anything that throbs, I reach into his pants, hand all perverted like it’s got a gimp, and I feel something, something damp, like “mom daddddd the baby just spilt on the kitchen floor and I’m not cleaning up” and then translating the silence with what is felt I make sense of the situation, thinking “awwww, he hadn’t been touched in awhile”. 

Come morning room’s scent was stale secretion and I felt mattress become lighter, behind shut eyes sensed him sneaking out confused having checked closet to see if composure was a costume I had hung and retired or choice b, he vanished feeling I had already grown attached, “she knew my jeans were Levis, chick was wild dude, stay around any longer she’d have read my mind, studied my soul”. 17th time he’d have shared story, this time telling his version to some bloodshot middle aged man just laid off from work desperately attempting to drink real problems away, not enough spirits here for that, sorry sir gonna haveta’ cut ya off. Wringing washcloth, sponge of liquor over sink, he would think hard, trying to concentrate instead on memorizing mixtures for obscure shots requested by guys looking to show Jersey girls a good weekend trip in the big bad city, what a waste, I hadn’t felt anything aside from less lonely and content with what I had got, pleasuring seeing him coming in his eyes, which will hold any female over for a few inactive weeks, which didn’t mean much.