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Posted 1/20/2015
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bus(t)y babe

she, a shirt with a stoned turtle,
with her nips slightly poking,
me, blue long sleeves,
gnarly elbows hidden,
her eyes on me,
my hands draping her,
that was her display pic.
Center frame, both of us,
smiling,
the Berlin wall behind us,
graffiti strewn,
also smiling.

Replacing that shot,
of pre-coital tension,
dynamic bliss,
yin yang partition,
young stability,
was one of her feet,
ugly protruding veins
thanks to restrictive heels
(she never liked them before)
before a night out
to the local bar,
no doubt.

A business suit,
behind my barely clad babe,
black and invisible (almost)
in the poorly lit bar,
unlike his face,
stretchy and smiley
as is hers.
Is that his palm? See?
On her hip,
brushing her (almost?) inflated chest,
(her dilated pupils! look!)

I dial her fast,
ring-ring
no picking
once again
(I'm breathing loud now)
'The recipient is currently busy.'
My bus(t)y babe's
receiving yet not receiving,
she's busy being a receptacle,
a repository
of I know what.


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