She was gamey, ossified in my being, with a tattoo of a cockroach on her right arm and bagpipes on her left. I sat across the cafe from her every morning and tried not to gouge out my eye from lust for her musk. She permeated my wail that I tucked under my wretched self so I wouldn’t have to flog myself at home again.
I was an unkempt skull she twirled by and nodded at. Someone like a flowerpot seen everyday and barely noticed. I hoped there were blooms that dripped like a rosary in my wake. (more…)