Thursday, October 24, 2019
scratching the surface
A scratch. To satisfy an itch, not a seven-year itch, barely seven hours. And that's the problem: barely. Scratch it. Again. Out of self-curiosity, let the left hand wander south, posterior. Explore the source. What source. The evidence: a line of five or six inches on bare-ass skin. Corrugated. Crust. Dried blood. From whence. Who did this. When. In sleep. So brazen. So surprising. Rude. Not deep like a razor cut but noticeable. An intrusion. So tidy and straight. Who how when why. Mystery. Carnal drama. Whodunit.
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