by Brian McCloskey
And time and fire and time and hunger and time plus time. I want the words to rebuild the house in shambles. The skeletal airs of oboe and bassoon. Her collarbone, hips, knees and perfect feet. My face literally turned as red as my tights! To acquiesce like a dead sponge does. My palm is too wide to squeeze into them. Sometimes she bites the cats, but even they find it adorable. The sun finds a place on our skin and has no need to make it shine. As you can see, I am definitely enjoying these tights. One night you said you could see her smile again. I want actually opaque tights. Venus, after all, is the queen of the morning. I walked home with eyes that melted snow. Before long that itchy goose began to strut around the office like a lunatic. Do you remember when you were a little girl and your mom dresses you up with skirts with white tights! We had no such exotica at our table. Sometimes, given atmospheric change and mines, your toe explodes. It actually got to be so much that I was sure people were actually mocking me. The strength of human ingenuity and the beauty of having fun whatever the temperature. Quit when your thighs feel tremble and have difficulty supporting you. Panthers lope silently among the trees. Of little use to her now was the pistol she kept in her underwear drawer. The wallet woke up. It's hard to describe, but I think tights feel great to wear. No song would escape for a month or more. O what the songs didn't tell us! In those days men with the same face shot one another. He resembled a stuffed armadillo, an ageless iguana. Some eggs don't even exist. We experience a hilarity of misadventures in our pursuits of sexual pleasure.