what is this? cher's farewell tour?

we have designs on purchasing a houseboat. i will continue with massage and he will write screenplays and we'll drift away into a red sky and live happily ever after. maybe next summer?

i read their palms, touch them, and use gushing passionate bloodfuck words. nobody else blends their heart with their beatoff mag. i want poetry in sickness, tragedy in comedy. i want kept secrets and brutal honesty. be that for me now.

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the last time i saw you, i was wrapped around someone else. as you left our apartment, you called me a whore and i hissed that you were the lousiest lay i’d ever had. while that’s half true, i forgot to mention that you were the most loving sex i have ever known. to this day, i reflect on that and smile.

how i wish you were still the man that donned a suit and tie every day, smelled of aftershave and always got haircuts. instead i am reminded of an elephant, or any creature that shits the weight of a small car.

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"no jean, the 't' is silent, as in harlow" - margot asquith

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thirtysomething charlie prefers his dinner dates to be audacious. he eyes his plate, as if to say, "you are appropriate for pad thai, not michelle rodriguez sponsored by GQ". he studies my face for reaction, probably wishing i'd say something clever, so as to hasten the uncomfortable moment. nothing.