[original] she doesn't expect it from you
31-days: because i dream of her too often.
better to write anything.
Orpheus couldn’t see, and he kept blinking, hoping his vision would clear.
Urania stirred beside him, and he could finally make out the blond hair she had stuck to her cheek. He was suddenly, inexplicably glad she had not been persuaded to dye it black.
The curtains were closed, but the sun was stubborn. He felt its heat on his exposed legs, so he wiggled them back under the covers.
The carpet was littered with empty beer cans and cards from an impromptu game of Fifty-Two Pick-up. It was hard to tell who had lost.
A part of him knew it was time to stand up and start his day, the same part of him which had told him Urania should be in graduate school, not in a band with her nephew. It wasn’t a voice he listened to very often, so he rolled over onto his side, facing away from Urania. He let his eyes close, the weight of sleep compelling.
He thought of Her again, and a grin emerged through his thin lips, silent and secret.
Maybe it was the sleep sweeping him away, or many it was the prophesy of her pale legs, but he couldn’t stop praying to Her, praying for her. his eyes heavy and dark with lust and curiosity. She wore garters and her voice was strong, like her tree-trunk thighs which her mini-skirts didn’t hide very well. Her hair was always falling out of a pony-tail, or in a half-done braid. Her hair was wild, like the branches of an old thornbush.
Fingers into a fist, and then out again. His breath gets jagged, and he begins to run through song lyrics in his head.
The way her collarbone felt underneath his tongue, hard bone underneath a thin layer of soft skin, freckled and pale. Her feet were flat, but her toes curved when he blew out a breath against her sole. His nails digging into her scalp as she touches him, her grip tight.
She kept a line of dahlias outside of her house, and she told him she had bought the seeds herself. She said this proudly, as he stood on the doorstep in his underwear. The morning son was gentle on his arms, that morning, and Orpheus remembers it now, alone, as she sleeps herself blocks and blocks away in her house.
In his head he writes her a song, and it is named Snake Bites a Girl and Drives her Away.
It is about a girl who is so lovely and newly wed that she dies. But her lover digs into the ground until he reaches China, where a god floats upside-down on a cloud. The god tells the lover to forget her, and the lover becomes a worm.
In his head,he writes another song, also for her, and it is named If You Look Back, You’ll Lose Her.
It is about a young man who is actually a young woman, and she is in love with a man who lost his wife twice.
In his head he writes a last song, as his thoughts become dreams instead, and it is named My Fingers Smell Like Your Insides.
It is about women, women with red hair and crow’s feet when they smile, women with serious glasses, women with blonde hair stuck to their cheeks. It is a long song, and only in his dream does he remember the words.
better to write anything.
Orpheus couldn’t see, and he kept blinking, hoping his vision would clear.
Urania stirred beside him, and he could finally make out the blond hair she had stuck to her cheek. He was suddenly, inexplicably glad she had not been persuaded to dye it black.
The curtains were closed, but the sun was stubborn. He felt its heat on his exposed legs, so he wiggled them back under the covers.
The carpet was littered with empty beer cans and cards from an impromptu game of Fifty-Two Pick-up. It was hard to tell who had lost.
A part of him knew it was time to stand up and start his day, the same part of him which had told him Urania should be in graduate school, not in a band with her nephew. It wasn’t a voice he listened to very often, so he rolled over onto his side, facing away from Urania. He let his eyes close, the weight of sleep compelling.
He thought of Her again, and a grin emerged through his thin lips, silent and secret.
Maybe it was the sleep sweeping him away, or many it was the prophesy of her pale legs, but he couldn’t stop praying to Her, praying for her. his eyes heavy and dark with lust and curiosity. She wore garters and her voice was strong, like her tree-trunk thighs which her mini-skirts didn’t hide very well. Her hair was always falling out of a pony-tail, or in a half-done braid. Her hair was wild, like the branches of an old thornbush.
Fingers into a fist, and then out again. His breath gets jagged, and he begins to run through song lyrics in his head.
The way her collarbone felt underneath his tongue, hard bone underneath a thin layer of soft skin, freckled and pale. Her feet were flat, but her toes curved when he blew out a breath against her sole. His nails digging into her scalp as she touches him, her grip tight.
She kept a line of dahlias outside of her house, and she told him she had bought the seeds herself. She said this proudly, as he stood on the doorstep in his underwear. The morning son was gentle on his arms, that morning, and Orpheus remembers it now, alone, as she sleeps herself blocks and blocks away in her house.
In his head he writes her a song, and it is named Snake Bites a Girl and Drives her Away.
It is about a girl who is so lovely and newly wed that she dies. But her lover digs into the ground until he reaches China, where a god floats upside-down on a cloud. The god tells the lover to forget her, and the lover becomes a worm.
In his head,he writes another song, also for her, and it is named If You Look Back, You’ll Lose Her.
It is about a young man who is actually a young woman, and she is in love with a man who lost his wife twice.
In his head he writes a last song, as his thoughts become dreams instead, and it is named My Fingers Smell Like Your Insides.
It is about women, women with red hair and crow’s feet when they smile, women with serious glasses, women with blonde hair stuck to their cheeks. It is a long song, and only in his dream does he remember the words.