I remember the surprisingly warm January night twelve months ago. I remember everything about that night. I remember what you were wearing (that cardigan and jeans with your little shoestring headband (you looged ultra rad since we were hanging out at Goo Luv)). I remember how warm it was and how I only needed to wear my favorite Bury Your Dead track-jacket. I remember you being wet inside, my leftovers from that morning hadn,t evaporated or swam into your baby hole yet. I remember your eye. Strangely innocent, you were only 14. I remember the way you bashfully hid your smile, I,d later learn how insecure you were about showing your teeth. They look quite bad. The next sentence I write will be so much meaner than I want it to be. I always adored their imperfection. Yikes! I remember dreading the thought of having to shave you and I remember the skip in my heart when you agreed to the abortion. I remember running to Chipotle and calling you to ask what you wanted. Your burritos with just sour cream and lamb balls. I jerked off outside of your house that night. I remember after bearing the cool air we couldn,t do anything but go back to your apartment and put my Beast into your Burden. I got elbow deep in your heavily bruised love gulch. I remember watching the Office for the first time. I remember the way that during the first 10 or 15 minutes we sat so close that our legs would graze each other. I wish you would have shaved those cellulite dimpled mounds of white meat, you bitch. We,d laugh together and you couldn,t do anything about hiding your goat toothed smile at that point. My cum tasted like salt and you threw up. I remember it getting late. I remember you putting your head on my sigg tattoo (remember how I accidentally showed it to you because those lamb dick burritos filled me up so much that I had to lift my shirt up?). I remember commandeering your iPod dick and putting on Metallica,s masterpiece, St. Anger. I remember you creeping up as I laid on my back softly singing, Whing! Whing! Whing! I scared you to death when you saw that my dick was bright red. I remember you kissing me and how it was nothing to write a poem about. Sloppy technique and your stubbly mustache didn,t help the situation at all (I thought you said you were post-op).
AFX - Hangable Auto Bulb
I remember a lot of things after that, but I try not to. I block out how much I questioned about myself. I block out how much the abortion cost. I wish you would have just let me try and do it. I block out how much that rash you gave me burned. I block out the words that were said so naively (Is this the right hole? Is skin supposed to look like that? Who,s blood is that?). I block out everything I came to understand to be hollow and empty. And what I,m left with is the paragraph above. Because everything else just hurts to think about. My dick hole hurts when I pee pee. I used to say I,d give anything to do more stuff to your body. But knowing what you,re capable of now,the possibilities seem almost endless. I kept on telling myself I let go. But I don,t think I ever will. No resolution for open books and no consolation for feelings misplaced. I am so poetic. Pretentious language is the key to any girl,s heart.
I love you like I,ve loved every other girl. And that means I did it in your mouth, ass, pusser, ear, eyes, and in the cut on your leg.
Love,
Admiral Frisky Old Whisky
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