prose poem: results 73–76 of 76

We had our first sex on a 70s era couch (while MTV's 'The Real World' played); it made my allergies go off—that's the reason I laid my head on your chest, because the cushion was giving me a rash.

We are taught to take care of each other, that families are harsh places where people will tell you that you're fat or old looking, but also where those same folks will stand by you.

This hammock is strung for one, and it's so humid outside that we stink. If I concentrate, maybe I can weigh us down, till the netting is barely grazing the acorns below us. When we touch the ground I will orgasm. I'm preparing for it now, facing down while you sleep turned towards the sky, my breath moving your collar.

sheen wind shave my ear so I can hear nothing but your electric tyranny.