Potable Oppressions

We were at the junction where the bed post would've been had we that sort of sleep. That lent itself to the abysmal fantasies of heterosexual copulations. He was moaning charcoal tears in broad strokes. Like a child filling in a sunset.

He ratcheted me down into his folds in a sudden choke of the gears. Leaving my tires up in the air. To keep spinning as we broke. Abruptness is the language of passion. The evidence of our desires. As they poke up from within the thin veil that drapes our ordinary lives.

We stood at the door whittling the night down to a toothpick. Eyes drawing from one dot to the next in impaired ballpoint. Through the dense gauze of alcohol and sex. We're all geniuses in those moment of surrender. The clarity deadpanning our lives. In the punchline of some joke long ago dismissed..