feed your head

last night i dream i'm some scrawny, gutter-punk truant with red and black hair. i'm strolling through a subway car, a practical void, except for this blonde with her light olive tan that lights up like a lamp post in a cobble drive. i see fists in her eyes, and dollar signs. i could see that she was running on e, purring like the energizer bunny, and she fit into me like a hook into an eye.

she pulls this chicken egg out of her purse and looks over at me. i'm sitting next to her. she asks me, "close your eyes for a moment," and grins. she's feigning blood lust, like she hasn't had her morning latte, or didn't let something steep long enough. i think, okay, i'll indulge; i'll humor. i look away for just a brief moment. i feel her head on my shoulder. subtle teeth. i hesitate, as if i'm shy, and she whimpers. so, i look back. her hand is down in her pants. she's rubbing her face, her lips and cheeks all over my autumn sweater. her teeth chat the buzz of her cellphone into my chest. in my head, i picture a pink veil of saran wrap pulled over her heavy-breathing hole; i leave her nostrils alone, so she can still gasp for air when we're through. i don't want her dead, i just want her desparate... and i want somebody to call her, quickly, but wireless communication is against my religion, so i follow her arm down into her faded glory... i slip beneath her tight-knit neglige. now i can see she's not just begging for attention. she's right in the middle of an angled exchange involving the theory of evolution, and some of the questions it posits. i think, yeah, so much for desparation...

i ask her for a name.

she presses the back of her tongue to the roof of her mouth and promises me mockingbirds and diamond rings before she's caught by ripples, like faeries of pleasure, realigning the axle of her cognitive wheel. i massage the underside of her early worm with taboos; constellations i trace, with oily innuendos, along the spineless musculature of the rosey looper. she bites her thumb; is then attached to my neck by her frosted lips; her reptillian tongue, drawing figure eights between the back of my jaw and my clavical. to drown the intensity of her confession, i withdraw whatever vibrates inside of her, and i slip it around her attentive clit until her whole body shivers from confusion and splendor. her teeth break my skin. she's startled for fractions of a second, then rolls on top of me so that her legs are straddling mine. our hands play dangerous games in sign until i take mine away to press my cock against the seamless divide between the right and left leg of her denim bluejeans. slowly, she runs her ringfinger down its length. looking into my eyes, she pushes my head to the back of our seat. my ears beckon her lips, "come closer, and speak softly..." and she whispers...

"remember what the door mouse said."