Navel Gazing.


On her back, she lights a cigarette.

Sharp smoky exhale inhabits moisture: viral sickness in a willing host. Breathless, her sweat smells like Jim Beam. Contours undulate: pale pasteurized dunes contrasting gloom; a thirties Femme Fatalé in carcinogenic monochromy. Stubble shored silken cleft: low-grade sandpaper against my whispering. I taste her, not in my mouth but my soul. She flipped my empathetic switch. I hate it when they do that…

Psychic flash-bang of a fellow void. It’s easier to play with strangers.

She’s sticky, sweet & salty on the apex of muscle. Take a quickening breath. Inhale citrus tangled tobacco leaves soaked in aged bourbon. Olfactory oasis in the desert of her flesh.

How much like a smaller cunt, her slim navel looks. Oxidized pink lips – tight like her asshole, no less inviting, begging to be tongue-fucked. She asked me, so nicely, to put myself everywhere…

Impressions of kisses trace a path from famines slick refuge to disused umbilicus, nourished once again. Caressed with hungry cat’s licks. Warm. Scented and sensual. We willingly wandered alone together, into this hourly rate.

Silently pining in unison for some other couple, in whose hearts we only collected dust…

Suddenly she tastes like almonds, or tears of rage, set in sands of too much time squandered on the wrong meat. Inane shapes of some kind, for someone who has no shape; existing only in attachment’s periphery? Come-stained triage at a quarter to three.

I don’t know her name, least not her real one.

Why dig beyond the shallow grave I made of poked entrails? Every hip churn: a fire in fluttering blue and despairing brown. I chose to drown in her color, if only for a while. Violence in my despair forced her enjoyment, in spite of itself. Ocean blue turns tar black. A Great White drowning in stale air, shuddering beneath. Anchored to cheap cotton with clammy fists.

Perhaps I fucked away her pain, or at least was better than daddy? There’s issues attached to him, behind her eyes. Least that’s what her aura told me.

Glistening holes temporarily filled with saltwater dirt: feelings for a different woman, I’ll never be free from. This one’ll finish her smoke before she takes a shower. I’ll wash myself empty anew. Mournful tears for words I’ll never hear, from lips of someone with no shape – never again touched or tasted. She never leaves, so I ejaculated her into my temporary room-mate.

There’s no such thing as a fresh start…

My afternoon vessel rises silently; exertion beaded ass dribbling, as she flounces into the bathroom. I don’t care if she got what she followed me for, turning to watch milky post-traumatic stress running down her thighs. Plumbing hisses into life. Steam curls overhead – reaching grey filaments against the dark.

If only being clean was that simple…


3 thoughts on “Navel Gazing.

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