she said it would turn her on to get hit by my car
or maybe anyones car
she said there was a name for it. even a movie for it. the wanting to get hit by a car in an erotic fashion
she said when she was a little girl in paris a car hit her. and her asshole father cried and held her on the street and that his emotions were closer to pure than she ever saw
i brought up the dots that connect the two. she probably knew. it's her story to tell. so i won't tell it. she, her brain, will tell it better than mine anyway. what an intelligent brain on the young woman. it wasn't the provocative youth that poured out of her ripe curves it was her provocative brain i objectified in my worst views, and melded into in my bravest, and bumped back and forth with - in my favorite, and then scattered from in a manic dash to find quiet
she said don't romanticize female sadness. but i cut a coconut in my kitchen this morning and gulped the cold gray water inside of it for my hangover. you don't understand how i am the only shape i am because of this female sadness. my outline is traced by it
recently, another woman, said let me inside your apartment just for a little while
recently i saw a picture from last summer of her laying on my bed back when my bed was on the floor
recently, another woman, said let me show you the way the sun sets from my windows
recently, 1, 2, 5, 10, 25, 105, women said let me fall into your lap.
and so they pour out of the windows and scale the tall buildings, plague the streets and crawl all over me
and i do everything to encourage them
