Friday, September 10, 2010
Forehead, Slightly Salted
Maybe it was the look at his ex’s anal opening that was affecting me, but I couldn't help but feel ashamed of the roach infestation in my neighbor's house. It was I who introduced the foreign species to the new habitat, after all. But anyway, he asked me to look at his ex's anal opening because he heard that he had had sex again in the bed sheet, but off his wife, and was concerned about the possibility of some of the excitement he sustained when he got that horrific gash on his leg being left behind, unremembered. Staring deep within his ex brought the memories rushing back like viscous liquid upon the skin of perfectly sculpted bodies: the roaches, the shimmerdimensional forehead, the sieved yolks of strawberry. I always knew it would come to this eventually, so I grabbed my preparedness kit and whipped out the needles and collected curiosities of the pantry-- in effect, admitting my guilt. With this, I breathed in her hair and slunk from the room like a dull ham.