We’ve been apart
now for a while, and
the pain has begun to
subside. But today, something
triggered it all fresh
and sharp.
I ran across some
pictures of your
vagina that you let
me have.
It makes me sad
to look at them
for hours on end.
I may be reading
too much into the
three different views,
but in one of them,
your dormouse seems
to be whispering,
“I miss you, Thomas,
we had so much fun,
you and I.”
In another shot,
the light hits little Jezebel
just right (she loved it when I called her that.)
And I swear it seems as though
she is pouting like she’s sad too.
And the third picture is
the hardest to view of all.
It’s in black and white
so it has that artsy film noir
look to it, like a sad French
mime. Quite artistic as far as
closeups of vajayjays go.
It has a fussy, pouty
look to it, with a twinge
of anger, as if to say,
“why did you break up
with that great poet who
idolized me, and took such glorious
pictures of me.” It seems to be
beckoning, “Please take him
back, maybe if you do,
he won’t drink so much and
disappear for days on end
with your car, and then come
back smelling of urine, and
old painted up whores.”
It breaks my heart
to look at that one.
I’m almost crying as I write
this because Jezzy looks so sad, and
lonely and a bit angry at
you for selling my collection
of baseball cards.
Brilliantly penned, Thomas. Into the book it belongs! Phenomenal storytelling my friend. Fantastic read my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thank you, my friend.
Brilliant
Thank you.
You’re very welcome
This is outstanding. Well written and marvelously descriptive. I like this.
Thanks