She reaches behind her
and spreads everything,
her head presses into the comforter.
Duvet? Comforter? It's argyle,
whatever you wanna call it.
Green and light teal, the colors
of the blanket and pillows
match the curtains
hanging in the unfocused
background.
I turn the volume down
as she moans through
the initial insertion.
That's my favorite part.
The rhythmic slapping
of flesh coming together
begins like the beat of
some primal, animalistic drum.
I notice the furnishings are
seldom, a single dresser
with a large mirror
is the only thing I can see.
It has a light finish on it.
Interesting.
I would've gone with a dark walnut,
or maybe a mahogany.
Is dark wood furniture out of style?
I look around my room,
at the dark stained wood desk
that my computer sits on.
My **** isn't even hard anymore.
*** slowly dribbles out as I finish,
mostly unsatisfied.
Unsatisfied with my paltry velocity,
and further unsatisfied with my
terrible sense of interior decoration.
Oh well, I'll go again in an hour.
Maybe I'll get some ideas
for my kitchen.

I was eighteen
when Henry was born.
I was mostly gone back then.

Mom used to say
it's like she has two only children.

I still say that when people ask.

He's getting older
and I'm further now
than I've ever been.


I would say that he
thinks about me
less and less
these days,
but maybe that's okay.
Maybe that's for the best anyway.


...I bet my dad has had that same thought.

"Maybe it's for the best."
"Maybe that's okay."

Maybe not, I don't know.. but
it makes me feel better
imagining that he has.


Gotta call Henry.

The water laps eagerly at the stony bank,
the sun peeks her rays around a passing cloud.
My skin drinks deeply of both,
pruned toes and tanned chest.
The kayak gently bobs
in the shallow wake from the breeze.
Mithrandir falls below Moria,
I put down the book and reach
for a beer.
The resident swan has been paddling
little laps at a safe distance from me.
I catch him looking at me
side-eyed, flipping his head back and forth.
I make kissy sounds and hold my hand out,
he comes over to see if I have any bread for him.

It's nice here. Little fish pick dead skin from my legs.
It's nice here. My shoulders don't get sore from paddling anymore.
It's nice here.
I do this almost
every day.

Saccharine and sanguine
the allure of a pink tummy
I reach out to rub and squish
but then I'm halted.
Daggers for hands,
I'll be bleeding again,
but the brief soft touch
may just be worth it.

I'll be turning 34 this year too, and I feel it. It feels like a calling, like a proverbial mother ringing a triangle hung on the porch calling me in for dinner on a hot summer night spent hitting lightning bugs with a wiffle ball bat and watching them light up in an arc as they fall to their death. I turn to look towards the warm hue radiating from the house and know that it's time to go in for dinner, but on my walk to the front steps I keep desperately searching for something worthy to distract me from going inside. Something to make this perfect night last just five minutes longer, something worth looking back for and... I don't see a **** thing. Every step I take I keep passing by interesting rocks guaranteed to be hiding all sorts of fun bugs but as I walk I kick them over only to find vapid nothingness. I miss my friends as I climb the first step, with my hand on the banister I look over my shoulder and glance behind me but only see blackness. Everyone else has gone home, and it's just not the same without someone to spend the time with. Friends to paint the canvas of my memories. Just nothing. As I step into the house I realize that this is actually not that bad at all, even though Mom is gone and Grandpa and Dad are gone too. I walk over to the kitchen and grab a pan, fry up some eggs and bacon. "Breakfast for dinner again?" I hear her voice tease me in the back of my mind and answer audibly with a smile "of course, you know I like switching it up." I eat dinner at the kitchen table and google my local trade unions that happen to be taking apprentices. IBEW? International brotherhood of electrical workers huh? I finish off the last of my dippy eggs with the toast I made as I fill out the application, apprehensive at first and then welcoming the questions. Satisfied at how simple it was. A glance at the half-drunk bottle of whiskey on top of the fridge, followed immediately by a peek at the overly-full recycling bin filled with empty bottles.