fuck
she pulled her dress off
over her head
and I saw the panties
indented somewhat into the
crotch.
it’s only human.
now we’ve got to do it.
I’ve got to do it
after all that bluff.
it’s like a party—
two trapped
idiots.
under the sheets
after I have snapped
off the light
her panties are still
on. she expects an
opening performance.
I can’t blame her. but
wonder why she’s here with
me? where are the other
guys? how can you be
lucky? having someone the
others have abandoned?
we didn’t have to do it
yet we had to do it.
it was something like
establishing new credibility
with the income tax
man. I get the panties
off. I decide not to
tongue her. even then
I’m thinking about
after it’s over.
we’ll sleep together
tonight
trying to fit ourselves
inside the wallpaper.
I try, fail,
notice the hair on her
head
mostly notice the hair
on her
head
and a glimpse of
nostrils
piglike
I try it
again.
Altre opere di Charles Bukowski...
