Put out–

–your body like a flat sheet on the firm mattress and let’s go back to 1903, together. Put that spiral of pills out of sight and please, don’t mention the latex of smell and plastica-ugliness at a time like this. We’re turning back clocks and you’re the one on the job, the gal asked to wind them with your red fingertips, wind them with all your might.

Lay back. It’s a ride, girl, so let out a good scream.

My best friend (the engineer) was asked in a meeting of “serious thinkers of our generation”, to offer one solution, the best singular fix in diminishing poverty and curbing human suffering.

“Birth control”,  she said flatly, in that engineering-way: simple. The way a man knows his want of a naked Nefertiti, the tangle of black hair and silken brown flesh on a gilded floor, waiting to be devoured.

One response to “Put out–

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