Yeast

John. Wine. Red brick. Blindness. Ditches. Roses. The twins. The burnt to a crisp baby. Dicks. Corner. The driveway impossible driveway. Snakes and decimated kittens. Christmas. I want to pull you inside me in my childhood bedroom. I want to fuck on top of my flimsy bed with drawers on the side for clothes. Endless. Shallots. The death and burial of countless animals. Tossing rocks into frogs. The fish tank is spent. Mustard sandwiches. Eric with his fingers inside me the very first time. Mary Kay and animal cruelty, the White Album, and getting hard when tickling your daughter. Our movie. Your uncle with his tight shorts and big dick. Love by proxy. Joints, weddings, and heart failure. Pink champagne and roach motels. Sammy. Heineken. Handcuffs. Small cocks and parking lots. Lottery tickets and shade.