If one wanted to smell like
my tumblr, however, one would have to climb into a bath full of female
ejaculate and dissolving jolly ranchers. One would have to smoke some weed in
there for an hour or so, soaking. Then one would be approaching the smell of my
tumblr, who is so wonderful.
When I am lonely or a
certain sort of hungry, tumblr parades vital carnal moments before me. A naked
straight couple loitering on a curb in doc martins. She wears a strapon and he
looks fine with it. Vital―a glimpse into a hopeful world. Strap-on and
nonchalance in the same frame. I'd like to sit on that curb as well, tumblr.
I'd like to watch. Or here, a woman with long eye lashes, she looks done up
like she sings with the Supremes. An arm gathers her large breasts together
while she presses a finger daintily against her clit. Her nipples are perfectly
round, like the last few sips of tea at the bottom of two cups. I want to make
a den of her legs. Her pussy must smell like doo-wop. Like Murray's hair pomade.
A pair of slim twins with matching tattoos, posing with their asses touching
and their arms over their heads, looking how I feel―bored, high, aroused,
overwhelmed by post-modernity―Thank you tumblr, I feel less lonely.
[from 'conjugal visits with my tumblr']
[from 'conjugal visits with my tumblr']
