hellsforheroes

The drive way, we parked in the drive way. Parking in driveways, driving on parkways, running noses, and smelling feet, I was thinking about not needing big feet to bottom out a boat, to stand tall, to park the world, the spin of homeward soldiers, Folgers for the morning, coffee, tea, and Sams ass in front of me. I was up the stairs, starring at my destination, my place, to embrace, to disgrace, to chase, to taste the faction of mellow, gone sleeping with the noisiest of fellows, fellow ships, collections of vessels, vessels to ride motion like an ocean on a sea between her knees, I was opening the door waiting to tear her muffled stage a new reality, a principality between fair Verona. I stuck my key in the hole, kicked open the door to my place, she scampered to the bathroom, my apartment, dark by nightfall and clean, surprisingly amusing, forthcoming, and tidy, strident expression in quiet voices scattered along the walls, message in bottles of digging into the sand of thinking, the waves of remaining keen to the clues of life, the mysteries of history the meaning of beaming. I was fumbling the posse of thumbs, the burning incense that makes sense, and stormed by her body, spackled by her demand, smelling of toothpaste, and burgeoning with incandescence. She was threading my needle, removing my clothes in the glowing odd lights of my bedroom, the yellow, the greens, the pharmacy of emotion in the bulbs of glee, her hands storming my castle, begging for my rook, sparing no pawn.
She was naked top to bottom, bare like a babe, a painting in a different land, breasted and cuddled. She needed no leafs of lush trees, she was degradation to the love of a lost Jesus salvation, a mission of preaching wrongs; she was a free woman naked in my airs. My eyes had before them cruel moody blues, nights in white satin, orbs ruling nights, suckling white on red, like blood on the tracks, steal barriers needing my beeswax.
She had me on my back, frailties thrown out like a mid summer manager fighting for the playoffs, tossed for going nuts, she with hands that knew where to catch the ball, with hands that had graced a painting before, brushes of pink. And then hit it. Yes, lord bless send this little angel into your pearly gates, as I have come thine blessed to devote adoration for a sequence of nerve senses programmed perfectly for the smooth, shaved wet evolution of butter, her voice was saying shit so perverse, her screams were opera, a goddamn symphony of death metal, a banshee on fire. I played the harp, and she owned a drum set. She was an epileptic cat, shaking for cult worship, heaving oceans of sailing wind, rivaling the gentlemanly cherub on my map of unknown seas, my mind in no way shape or form prepared for the actions undertaken during the last forty minutes. I was in a martial art, a Kata of positions all focused on engraving a dead hoop for a lost abacus, she and I carved every ounce out of our mitochondria, as the bacteria in the air, and the pictures of Dylan on the wall, talked amongst themselves about half bent light, and pygmies, lost souls without a religion, fuck religion, but seriously pygmies need love to.
She kissed my neck with her hand wrapped along the other side, licking me wet, and biting me, thanking me, connecting me, boring a whole into my grams, 21 maybe, and counting. Her other hand was still holding the phone, never wanting to let it go, just in case someone called again, just in case. We were both too wasted by endorphins to care about wet spots, and the damn humid air, clinging to every molecule of brutal liquid. I was lying on my back, she on her side. I was not aware of my heart yet, and the disappointment I wasnt going to be able to get over. I wasnt aware yet, that no matter how pretty she was, always, it wasnt going to be good enough, I wasnt stricken by her, I was a man without an arrow, just a coca-cola, no Icarus in an ocean for daring too high, nothing but phone calls, tearful tormented phone calls that she dialed, darkness not better than death, misery loving only a peniss company. I tried to love her, but couldnt, I was a rock sometimes broken against, a liar of an anvil, but tempered and struck none the less.
I want to fuck every waking second of your day away she said I even want you to sleep with your huge cock inside me, so that every time in the night you get hard, it starts growing inside me, and wakes me, so that I can make you come, come blood.
Okay I laughed back at her, thats it, I am disappointed.
Shut up and kiss me.
Thats not all I am going to do. I whispered, pulling her closed eyed cherub grimy jaw towards my mouth.
Are you ready she said.
I am going to get a coke, need anything
You are going to need ice cubes for your dick, when I am done. She said, back arched, tits dangling like roaring lions on the face of some archaic castle, some gothic church of gargoyles and prayer candles.
I was to the kitchen with a waddle, red from the waist down, dripping, veins near the surface, waiting to pressure burst, maybe bleed with a soul of an artery, a sprout of diction. I was to the lonely light of the fridge, a sputtering chassis of environmental waste, him a roadside methlab. I grabbed a coke, top to bottomed damn near the whole thing. I was a handful of ice cubes into a cup, and dramatizing, willowing my luck, my night. I was walking back to a prairie, a badlands of gallant sunflowers acting in the stead of homesteaded carpet, a mud hole era in some kind of history, a hysteria, a mystery of why sex could be mind blowing, and emotions remotely controlling, unlike the falling love pit of burning for hopelessness, Romeo, Id be your Juliet, Juliet, I dont want to be your Romeo, I want to die of crazy indian blood, boiling point lunacy, heart attack revelry, star fire forest flamed ashes, Icarus again, no chariot for Elijah, no cup to over floweth, just motley wings and a hope of glue.