garden party funk
My hips are sore. The muscles that hang tender below the male curvature of the hips are sore. I spent twenty minutes in a cramp-inducing position, carefully balancing a two-hour-old acquaintance on one leg as to allow her some room.
She laughed, 'isn't this so silly?' in wooziness. I nodded at her and the four of us, crowded into the back seat.
I barely knew the red leans of her hair, the slim heights that sloped harmonically down her sides, and already we spent our night like old familiars, hugging and resting heads on one another's shoulders. She fell asleep as we stopped to drop off one of the passengers.
I asked her if she was ok with me.
'Yes... yes, you're warm, I like you... so nice...'
The shortest chapter written can be attributed to Ronald Firbank, literary excursion of Frank O'Hara and reading love of John Ashbery:
"Mabel! Mabel! Mabel! Mabel!
Mabel! Mabel! Mabel! Mabel!"
And so we go back...
She laughed, 'isn't this so silly?' in wooziness. I nodded at her and the four of us, crowded into the back seat.
I barely knew the red leans of her hair, the slim heights that sloped harmonically down her sides, and already we spent our night like old familiars, hugging and resting heads on one another's shoulders. She fell asleep as we stopped to drop off one of the passengers.
I asked her if she was ok with me.
'Yes... yes, you're warm, I like you... so nice...'
The shortest chapter written can be attributed to Ronald Firbank, literary excursion of Frank O'Hara and reading love of John Ashbery:
"Mabel! Mabel! Mabel! Mabel!
Mabel! Mabel! Mabel! Mabel!"
And so we go back...