"Please let me whistle bang your howdydodad"
Repeating this mantra over and over
she rubs her bare breasts across the hard wood floors
waxing them reflective of the waning moon.
I'm watching T.V., something pornographic:
Now two girls are dragging their tongues across opposite sides of a dachshund;
I reload my emails to the soundtrack of a saxophone moan crescendo.
She's supposed to send me something,
but her promises were vague, early in the day...
it's gotten pretty late, I'm sure it's not coming.
I try to imagine her as some missed casual encounter;
all I find though are their shadows: husky data encrypted binaries:
the people I know pretending to be all the people I don't––
A wooden moon looks me up and down; its glow chirping softly.
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