In the gluttonous dark, stars carry on like they’re on a trashy talk show. Cool air painting everything black. I paint the world hot pink. Together, an erotic charge. Now he puts his hand, the paddle, his eternal boatness on my chest, and I restart like the old Windows 98 computer my parents owned before I knew deceit. I can’t yo-yo and philosophize at the same time. But I will tell you, as I Walk the Dog, that strange things prowl in the duplicitous dark. Desire, my fanged name, pain. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Glittery ghosts promenade in my hallways. One takes a lock of my hair “to remember your mortality by.” In the rage of my systematic ineptitude, a mountain range collapses from my heart into the greedy sea. My little box by the bay. My island of sugar miracles. I will love you always. My personal wolves hunt the horizon. They will bring the bones of twilight to me

My capacious curves captivate my hunter as he crests the dark, haunted with the howling of wolves. Somewhere a bad dream chases a man to the end of the Sidewalk. Another is caught in thorns and melancholy. But my man is here between my hips, marveling at the sweet, secret underside of my breasts and my generous thighs. He touches my fluffy core and a beam of blue light pierces my corneas, lighting the room like a computer lab. His body is rough, coarse, able and willing to do the math that frightens me. Eventually the sun will rise for the last time.