Monday, April 23, 2007

Strange Fruit

Feel that? The trip tickling tantalisingly tempting taste and traces of a dying summer. Arousing in its death throes, libidinously fresh and crisp in its ardent desire to travel around the globe and leave us breathless with sleep and ready to curl into flannel sheets - deceptively seductive as they are - as outside the reign of frost begins. And today...the sun is but the warmth of a lover after they have left the bed, a fragrant indentation and companion to the doe eyed loner left behind. Clarity is so fucking sexy, you can smell it on days like today. Days where the air dances electricity on your goose-fleshed arms and every hair stands to attention, marshalling the senses to a near orgasmic readiness. Everyone's alive, everyone's working, everyone's a busy beaver, and damn it feels good to be an animal, smelling, foretelling, hunting and killing. Days under a cold bright sun, nights a mystery behind closed doors, in front of a fire, with sated hearts and bellies and further down still. And if your toes could talk, they'd say...hehe, come lay by the fire, the fire with me.


And in perfect synchronicity, my Boss informs us all, that he has learned the Art of ejaculating up his own spine. Initially I picture him doing an "over the shoulder" and catching it on his back like those childhood wooden toys with the ball and string. Or perhaps he bends it down and around in some sort of gymnastic Holmes-esque ritual...but no. It's Tantric..and the office is nervously awaiting his offer to workshop us all.

1 comment:

  1. Toes are a good litmus test.

    And while I have a very good imagination, I'm stutteringly at a loss as to how that's huManly possible.