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Suki was perched on the edge of the secondhand leather couch. The glass of wine she had been offered remained untouched. She was like a songbird performing for hawks, prepared to take flight at any moment. Daniel sat on the couch to her right, not too close to be an overt threat but something in the way he moved made her skittish. His predatory smoothness was primal, like a tiger in the Bengal swamps. He was older then she was by almost a decade. She was 18 and he was 26. He told her she was old for her age. She smiled.
They had started talking online a few weeks before. Daniel had just moved to a near-by city where she was about to go to college. Suki had forgotten why they started writing one another so much. At first she had found it strange that he was in a committed relationship, but now Ariels presence seemed natural, Daniel's other half. Maybe his conscience that kept the lava in his eyes from burning those around him.
Ariel wasn't a willowy nymphette like Suki. She was about Daniel's age with an hourglass figure that put most pin ups to shame. She was an exotic dancer. She paced the room, circling the younger girl, sizing her up.
"Do you not like the wine? I can get you something else..." said Ariel. She liked this little southern belle, ringing her down home sweetest across the southwest.
"Oh...no I'm sure its lovely, it's just that I have to drive all the way back to the hotel and I'm such a lightweight. I would end up lost as 9th ward after Katrina." Suki giggled. Daniel laughed, more at her naivety then at her hurricane humor, his arm stretched out as if completely apart from himself and settled along the back of the couch. Suki thought of the deadly flowers in the amazon and the swamps of her own home state. Quietly sending signals out to flies and honey bees that safety and nourishment could be found within before snapping them up. Thats what Daniel was doing now, she could see it. She felt Ariel settle, albeit restlessly, beside her, closer then her hunting partner had. Her bare calves brushed against Suki's for an instant.
Suki trembled. They all knew why she was there. The all knew what would happen. Still she was uncomfortable. The idea wasn't bad. Daniel was in good shape, a nice looking guy, charming and Ariel was beautiful. She had long black hair and slightly almond shaped eyes that sparkled and shot around the room like rounds from a clip taking in everything before her. But something felt...wrong. The hair on her neck prickled whenever they touched.
Ariel leaned back, her hand laying over Daniel's out stretched arm, tracing lines, waiting. Suki was young and timid. They had known that the minute her first shy, drawling "hi there," slid out from her rosebud lips. But she'd open up, they all did.
The conversation drifted to Katrina, Rita and Gustav. Daniel asked if her house had been hit, it hadn't. Ariel twisted some of Suki's honeyed curls in her fingertips. She gave a slight pull, steady and firm, a sign of dominance. Suki sighed a little, then took a long drink of wine. Daniel grinned. He wondered if she could taste it.
The wine was strong, but Suki was certain that her hotel room would be empty tonight. She'd leave here in the morning, kiss them both good bye, maybe exchange numbers. She was certain she would arrive at the University campus in time for the tour and to pay for her dorm and meal plan. She was sure of all of it. Absolutely certain.
She relaxed and leaned back into the waiting trap of arms behind her. One golden and thin, the other tanned and thickly muscled, both waiting. She felt woozy.
"Would you like to see me dance?"
Suki couldn't tell which side of her the voice came from but knew it was Ariel. She wondered why she felt so lightheaded so suddenly. Ariel stood and began to move. The music was quiet and slow. The dancers clothes drifted off like flower petals. The room spun. Soft electronic rock music filled Suki's ears. She didn't feel the ropes. Ariels eyes were the last thing she saw.
Her car was down the block so Ariel put on the girl's blue pea coat and wandered out at dawn, head down with sunglasses and a hat on. She drove the car deep into the city. Through twisting back streets till she found a crack house. She parked a block over from it, got out and left it there with the windows down. The city would hide the evidence for her. She caught a bus and met Daniel at a cafe. They had a good lunch, happy and in love. The perfect couple.
She steps out on stage, nymphette grin in place.
Lipgloss and glitter smeared on her almost angel face.
You'd hardly know she was a person and not some lovely doll.
Because those little white pills hold her high above it all.
The music begins and the DJ says a name.
Doesn't really matter which because they're all the same.
Interchangeable girls, interchangeable parts
With painted on smiles and sweet restless hearts.
Oversexed and Underfed
Don’t you want me in your bed?
My young young breasts
My nubile thighs
My skillfully painted
Bedroom eyes
Oversexed and Underfed
Did the media put me in your head?
The models taught me
To walk this way
Cosmo tells me
How I should lay
Oversexed and Underfed
Food in my stomach feels like lead
I count my ribs
When I pull off my shirt
I smile when you touch me
So you don’t know it hurts
Oversexed and Underfed
One of these days I’ll end up dead
From all the chemicals
That I require
Just to fit
Into decent attire
He paid in all two dollar bills. It was about ten of them, which isn’t much but it was more of them then I’d ever seen. Why did he have so many?
He was cute, tallish with thick black hair and dark green eyes. The angular features of his face made him seem like he was always on the verge of saying something more…or maybe he just really was. He said he was from Pheonix, which meant he was just staying a night or two. I wouldn’t see him again, but it was so tempting to call the number he left, I just had to know about the two dollar bills. Did he rob a bank? Was he a collector? If he collected them then why was he spending so many here? So many questions.
Of course there was more then that. Like I said he was good looking and older and to charming for my own good. Not in a sleazy way like that blond air force guy who tried to pick me up later that same night. Two dollar bill guy had been funny, looking for a party maybe he had been trying to invite me out.... I don’t think so, that’s a bit far.
Apparently I’m much more romantic than I appear, even to myself. My sardonic and critical exterior would never admit this oh so stereotypical tall dark stranger into my world. But the girl in me, the young girl who never grew out of fairytales would. What if he’s a wonderful person? What if he’s the man I should marry? What if he’s an amazing fuck? Again….so many questions.
So as I watch the snow fall quietly around my little house I wonder how different my night could’ve been if I had the courage to give him my number, or stop him before he left…or ask his room number. Would I have slept there? Would I have found yet another person who was so beautiful yet so unreachable? Would it be just like the other boys I want and can’t have? Is my curse to be the unavailability of the men I want? Tonight when I come home, while I watch the snow fall under the cold blue moon, will there be another one who I wonder about?
She exhaled. It was good to be back. She felt at home here, even if it wasn't really home, even if the whole 6 years she lived here she only kept about three friends. Nobody else liked being around the crazy druggie girl. Her friends were true people, honest to a fault and damn good to have around in a rough situation or on a hot Saturday night. She had made new friends in new towns since being in Willow Bank but she always grew wistful for the backstabbing, traitorous charm of her little Louisiana town. She tucked her hands deep into the pockets of her navy blue peacoat, leaning back against her mamas cherry red front door. The air was thick and damp from the river that wasn't really a river just a few houses away. Gazing up and down the street, Sylvia drank up the scenery. The sky was grey above the trees, and depending on which way you looked, you could see the wealthy antebellum architecture of the old south or the slavish shacks that crowd the lower income neighborhoods of any small southern town. It was literally a turn of your head. One block was the kind of place most girls wouldn't walk even in daylight, the other seemed welcoming no matter how dark. The swirling greys of the sky made each end of the street look desolate. Sirens played a low war song in the distance as an undercover car passed slowly down Beaureguard Blvd. She smiled and nodded to the car. A youngish officer nodded back. It was Rock Cop, fucking bastard of a young man, had to come by and see. Ah, the lovely ability of news to spread faster in small towns then a spark through a wire. Time to strike out before anybody else dropped by for the traveling side show. Off she stepped, soft taps from her boots on the old brick streets followed her. She passed the columns and the oak trees, glancing up at the cracked paint or the refurbished porches, the whitewash furniture surrounded by mosquito screens. Such a pretty place, dark and morbidly pretty, for all the rich colors and white trim, the darkness oozed out of every brick, every plank; it watched out of the big bay windows, ducking its head behind lace curtains. But she flowed by, moving with the same certainty as a rivers current. Her own lightness was marred by dark. Dirty blond, pale blue eyes with dark dark streaks, almost white skin, with dusky pink lips. Contrast, contrast, that's the life in the new south. Gangsta rap and thugs mix with zydeco and debutantes, the old fashioned and the modern blend in strange and anxious ways. Tap, tap, tap. On she walked, turning the corner to 1st St, past the bar where her mama worked late late nights, serving liquor to wealthy blue hairs and old lushes barely making it by. Tap, tap, tap. It was getting darker now, she walked along the sidewalk by the old French and Spanish store fronts, the river bank, that wasn't really a river bank, slid craftily into view, obscured by the massive oaks that built themselves up upon its hillside for years and years. Down the steep hill that led to a river bank that was in a bygone year river bed, a boy was sitting on a wrought iron bench. He was looking out over the water, calm, waiting but tense. She crossed the street without looking, having spent most of her life cheating death, logistics were on her side. She reached the concrete steps that made the hill manageable, never looking away from the boys shoulders. They were broad and strong, an athlete. Even though he was in jacket she knew he was covered in freckles that were uncountable. The taps started again, the worn old stairs giving them an aged echo. The boys head turned a little. She slowed down and tried to breathe. He looked more relaxed now...maybe he had been worried she wouldn't really come. The 44th and final step, then asphalt, 15 steps, then soft grass. She exhaled. It seemed she had somehow contracted asthma. Frozen in a moment that was idyllic to any passerby. A petite girl still and waiting behind a young man waiting as well. She watched his neck, the golden brown flecks flickered on pink sunburnt skin. On him it didn't look rough, but refined in a way, like a country club boy who mowed his own lawn. His hair had faded, when they first met, it was dark, almost burgundy and over the years time had burnished it to a copper brown, with just the lightest hints of red. The freckles shifted and his head turned. The move was so fluid that she almost didn't see it. It was a shock to be so instantly confronted with his grey green eyes. Eyes she hadn't seen at all for months and that she now saw with new purpose. They choked her, they stopped her heart, they hit her like Katrina. "Hi."
There's a strange sensual over confidence that seems to stem from youth. Not the original shaky overcompensation the first time, but that strength from simply a few superficially successful tries at the animal act. Under 25 kids seem able and anxious to show that they've accomplished this. Only in this age group can you go to a party and find them fucking on a couch like in some ancient rite; people all around a dark room ingesting strange euphoric herbs some watching, some dancing, some barely aware.
The difference is back then, when man was young and naive, there was a purpose, get fucked up and find a purpose, find God or Zeus or whoever. But now we don't seek God, we seek unity. God isn't even part of this sordid picture. We only want to be together, to be part of something. You drift through the house, or the room or the neighborhood or wherever hoping to get so blessed high so fucking gone that when you grab that bitches hair or slide into that dudes lap that you can't tell if its really you. Hell it could be that girl you came with or that guy down the road and it doesn't really matter because in a few days no one will give a fuck. . . and because they aren't sure either.
Maybe thats why we can fuck right in front of each other and not even notice. We're all young and smooth, thin or thick, but beautiful because of our freshness, because time has yet to brand us with wrinkles. Maybe its the wrinkles that stop us later, like when you whip straight cream. At first its smooth, fresh, easy to pour into any container, any situation, easy to mix and move. But you beat it, sharp fast movements and it thickens and soon wrinkles grow and form. Thats a bullshit metaphor.
I've been working on this for a long time. I think its good, but needs alot of work. Its not done by any means and I'll probly take it down for editing in a few days. Lemme know what you think.
I love the way he looks at me. So open, innocent, like I am the one person he can trust. Hasn’t he gotten it yet? I mean Jesus Christ! You’d think he’d figure it out by now. Look at that happy face. Oh, he’s done talking for now, I should smile and laugh. Oh shit! Not that stupid joke again! Thank God I’m a good actress.
Ah…Here he comes, my pretty, pretty boy. He’s so cute, just look at that sweet smile, those dark eyes. They shine at me and our gaze meets only for an instant, but it’s enough to make me breathe in sharply. There is a flash in my mind’s eye; we’re tangled in white sheets with my back arched up and head back. I know he felt it too.
They party rages around us. Ace and I are seated on a porch swing, drowsing in the humid hot night, half stoned from fumes and half drunk on our very youth. I didn’t know whose house we were at, just that there was no one over 25. Some moron friend of his does a keg stand and falls down. A cloud of smoke floats out from a bush where a blunt is getting passed around; I can see the ember and smell the sweet acrid scent mixed with tobacco. Ace smells the air and feels Mary-Jane pulling on him. A quick smile to me and a kiss on my cheek and he’s gone leaving me with my pretty boy, a.k.a. Donny.
Ace (stupid name but blame his dad, the man was a car freak/drunk and thought if it rhymed with race, his kid would be guaranteed happiness ) as you may have guessed is my boyfriend. I’m Glory. My parents are religious freaks who thought names like Faith, Glory and Purity would inspire their children to follow God’s way.
Needless to say they failed…horribly.
I believe in the Goddess, Faith is faithful to the parental teachings and Purity is a lesbian Atheist living in post Katrina New Orleans. Purity is my favorite of the two; she’s 19 and absolutely fucking gorgeous. I mean fucking gorgeous. Being pure is hard for girls who look like her (and I’m allowed to say this without being creepy because she’s adopted). So, yes I check out my sister but that’s a family matter.
Faith is like I said is a zealot for her God. She is strange. She has very intense Charlie Manson like eyes and long black hair. She prays for hours and hours everyday and fasts for days at a time. This would be perfectly fine if she didn’t attack me with the fucking Big Book to ‘repossess my soul from the Great Whore’s charms’. Not kidding at all. She does that about once or twice a week. Most annoying.
But back to the current situation, Donny had happily settled down beside me smiling like the Cheshire Cat. He has blue black eyes that smolder and thick black hair that hangs down almost to his shoulders in ripples. Women world wide, myself included, would kill for his hair. A song by Michael Franti drifts over the stereo called “Ganja Babe”. There is slow sweet acoustic guitar with heavy base and a divine, husky voice that lulls me into a sublime state of relaxation. I roll my shoulders and lick my lips like a cream fed kitten, stretching out my sharp red fingernails. I hum and sway along with the harmony, careful not to brush too closely to him to quickly. I’ve noticed in my time, men are like rabbits, move to quickly and they bolt.
(Now, here is a hint to guys out there. When a girl does something like I am about to do, she knows. There is no accident here. Women are aware of our bodies and assets and will use them for our own reasons, be they for good or….entertainment)
As I sway to the music, maybe it’s the Champagne from earlier, maybe it’s the contact high I was getting from the circle in the bush behind us or maybe it’s just those damn hormones they are always warning us not to give into at school but somehow I end up with Donny’s arm over my shoulder and my head on his chest. My left hand clutched his firmly and my right gracefully tracing circles onto his thigh.
This rabbit had bolted, but not away. Donny rushed right into my arms. He slowly pulls me closer to him, and as I shift myself onto his lap, the ground flips.
With a loud crack, a shower of splinters and the snap of a chain link we tumble onto the hard concrete floor. Actually, Donny is on the floor, I am on Donny.
Oh shit, what did I do now?
~*~
Ace wanders giggling out of the bush. His idiot stoner giggle quickly fades as he notices his girlfriend, me, sprawled all over his newest buddy.
“What the fucks going on here, baby?” OK isn’t there a better way to show that I’m going out with you then resorting to stupid nicknames? I mean really.
This would not be good. I know that tone. He is trying real hard not to get pissed.
So, up I hop. (That angel must have shown up on my shoulder for once, because otherwise I would have stayed down) In a flash I am standing a little closer to Ace and looking delicately confused.
“I’m not sure what happened, sugar.” I give him a ‘don’t you dare talk to me like that’ look. (That’s the great thing about long relationships; you learn how to read each other)
He glares; I smile my ‘I’ll eat you alive’ smile. That’s my favorite smile. It’s slow, steely, and, I’ve been told, sexy.
“I think the swing broke.” A very uncomfortable reply pops up from the splinters. I had forgotten Pretty Boy was there. This is going to be a big fight and I don’t want to lose good eye candy over it.
So, I’ll just defuse the situation best as I know how. Hopefully, Ace is too fucked up to remember any of it.
“Brilliant deduction, Donny-boy,” I bent to pat him on the head. “It’s good to know you’re smart enough to realize when things fall out from under your ass.”
Ace watches me treat Donny with the disdain I use on so many other guys and visibly relaxes. What he doesn’t see is the tiny, little smile I give Donny, or the way I flicked my nails through his hair, or the way he smiles back. In truth, he should be more worried. Much more worried.
The old Ace returns. He swaggers over and wraps his arms possessively around me from behind. His lips press against my neck and the sweet smoky scent weed smell drifts up from his shaggy hair. I don’t understand why he’s making such a show of it. He never pays this much attention unless he has something to prove. Typical.
I turn around in his arms and press myself against him with a sweet smile.
“Take me home, honey.” I whisper in my very best ‘don’t you want me?’ voice. I yawn, stretching my arms up and letting them fall around his neck. My nails drag lightly on the top of his spine, twisting in his dark brown curls; tantalizing him. He grins.
Ace steps back from me. No words are exchanged between friends. Just arm around my waste and off we go. It’s a wonder he doesn’t notice me watching Donny (who is still laid out in the wreckage of the swing, stretched out comfortably) watch me walk away.
~*~
I’ll always love the long days and nights I spent in Ace’s room; whirlwinds of Polaroids, sex and laying, naked, on his bed while play guitar. We spend days on end there. I can’t imagine how we get away with it.
He’ll write a riff while I draw pictures or read or work on a short story. Then he plays for me and we end up fucking with the sweet urgency that can only come from being young. The sex is always followed by naps which are followed by pictures. I don’t know where this tradition started. Ace is a brilliant photographer and so when I am most agreeable (a.k.a. post coitus) he somehow manages to talk me into posing for him. I trust him with those though. You have to trust anybody who you have this kind of relationship with.
This time it isn’t right… let me explain.
Have you ever thought something that you shouldn’t have thought to begin with at a time when you REALLY shouldn’t have thought it? If you say no you’re lying.
The point is I can’t get Donny out of my mind. He is all I can think of. Every time I clear my mind and set myself on enjoying what’s going on, he pops up again.
Everything Ace does feels like Donny.
Donny’s lips.
Donny’s hands.
Donny’s chest.
Donny’s arms, fingers, tongue, teeth, everything!
And this isn’t like fantasizing during sex; this is my brain turning against me! The worst part is its good.
Really good.
Better then anything Ace could have done without my subconscious urgings. I know it’s wrong to say so but I’m not pulling punches in this. You want honest truth, well you fucking got it.
I felt guilty and lightheaded when we were done. It’s not something I suggest trying out. Ace, being male and fairly dumb, lays back, lights up and basks in the glow of ‘his’ accomplishment.
“So baby, how you feeling?” He drags on his cigarette and puffs out a smoke ring looking far too much like a satisfied dog for my tastes. Eyes closed, I turn away from the skinny, mediocre reality towards a muscular, amazing fantasy that was miles away.
~*~
I finally make it home. The ride to my house was tense and eerie; thick with the unsaid and the unknown. The whole ride Ace sat there like a rooster who just crowed louder than any other ever had in the history of the world, like he always does. I curled up in the passenger seat and feigned sleep.
The most painful moment came at a stoplight before I got home; I was shivering from the air conditioner and Ace reached over and gently tucked a button down shirt around me. His touched almost burned me it was so tender. It was like a splash of molten lead or a flick of a scalpel. I love him; really I do. Things just aren’t the same. His touch once burned me for a different reason and in a very different way.
It’s about when I stumble in. There is a light on in the kitchen and I am dressed in a ruby tank top and khaki short-shorts with Ace’s shirt tossed over my shoulders.
Shoulders back, slow measured steps, that’s how you Sober-walk. I doubt I would’ve fooled anyone, so I guess it was lucky.
“Hey honey. Long night?”
My darling sister Purity in full lotus position is set up on her yoga mat in one of her skimpy tanks and some cotton underwear.
I wish I could show her but, since you’re just reading descriptive and illuminating language will have to do. You see, my freaky ass parents adopted Purity before Faith and I were born. She is Cherokee/Caucasian mix and quite possibly the second most beautiful person to walk the earth in the past forty years (the first being Angelina Jolie).
She has pitch black hair down to her waist. She is willow thin, almost anorexic looking, with glass cut features and high cheek bones. It’s her eyes that captivate though. They are emerald green and when she gets going on something, they glisten and flash like she has a light inside her.
“Hehe, maybe.”
This is a time when I would love to say I was suave and charming, but I was drunk.
“Where did you get here, Purty?” The world is swishing around and so are my words. Whenever I do anything thought impairing, I feel like I’m watching one of those viral videos where some idiot is fucked up and acting stupid. I know what I’m saying and what I want to say, I just don’t connect that the two are different.
She laughs; it sounds like a bell.
“About , I couldn’t sleep so I’ve been meditating and waiting to see the sun come up. Wanna watch with me?”
I nod and Purity slips into her white cotton robe. With her arm firmly across my shoulders I was pulled back into the twilight, suddenly the warm kitchen comfort was gone. I was reminded of the ride back with Ace, the awkward silence in the car, and of course Donny.
Twilight blue. That’s what his eyes were. Goddamn him! Even when I was supposed to be sitting peacefully with my sister he won’t leave me alone.
Oh well.
~*~
Ok, so I’m sitting her at my computer in some god awful emo band hoodie and I just finished typing 75 definitions about fungi from my Biology book. You’d think that would get him out of my head. The past few days have been a blur. I’ve been trying to escape this whole “my relationship is being destroyed from the inside out thing”.
Bars were the cheapest way. Doing bars is like hitting the fast forward button. You take one and the thick lucidity that comes with all pills slips in. The, in a moment, your world tilts and you’re on the floor. Your speech slurs and words fill your mouth like eels. They squirm and flop onto the floor; oozing their cold-blooded traitorous way into the ears of passerby.
I went through 2 days of school like this…..well not completely, just torn in the aftermath of it. The 2 days felt like ten minutes. I woke up, went to school, got bars, got barred and passed out. My parents didn’t even notice. (Lovely, right?)
Mornings after are hard. They are really bad if you have some place to go. In the jumble and rush, with almost zero motor functions and the dull titanium lighting from your burned out retina blocking you from your goals. You know the kind I mean, the kind they put in the rehab and asylum scene in movies. Your tongue becomes thick and heavy, polar opposite from the night before.
This may seem like something that’s not worth doing, but bars are like heaven when you want to forget. You move through things like a puppet. Nothing bothers you much unless you can’t get what you need quick enough. Which in this case I couldn’t….so I was a raving bitch.
You see, most of the time all you need is more bars, but what I need…needed…. (I’m still deciding on tenses) was, go ahead guess. That’s right, ding-ding tell her what she’s won Bob! I needed Donny boy.
What family member do you most aspire to be like? Why?
Submitted by MalieKai.
None....they are all crazy......I'm serious.....they are all bipolar and sociopathic.
This was written last summer...I think.
Heat
I love this time in the south. It’s hot but not too hot. Just barely spring but you can even now feel the overwhelming heated silk of summer hovering over us. Waiting till it’s time to lay itself down on us all.
I think the heat gives the southern summer its atmosphere. It makes the teens crazy, the adults angry and the old ones reminiscent of old simple times.
The heat makes people too tired to be mean or to mean to be nice or just to damn hot to be good. The heat can make people silky. Silky like hot coffee with cream, silky like a 16 year old skin stretched over muscle pressed against lips, silky like steam built up inside a car window behind a Baptist church with a white steeple reaching for the moon. But all this pretty language can give but an idea.
The best part of summer is of course the change in people. Kids are free, teachers are human summer jobs are filled and summer flings begin. Good girls wander in groups wearing capris and T-shirts, a tank top at the least. They make plans to go to the movies or to the pool. A party every once in awhile. They make it home by curfew, sometimes late but it ends up ok. A little drink, but just enough to fake being drunk so there is no more pressure. Cigarette or two because, God knows they taste bad, but the maturity that comes with smoking is too good to pass up. Wednesday’s are Youth group. Sunday’s church. The rest of the week is open to anything anyone can come up with.
Bad girls stalk the back streets with the boys. Change plans for no one. Though only the people involved know them and half the time we don’t either. Call us anything you want just don’t call us boring. Sublime and Led Zeppelin, Marilyn Manson and The Vincent Black Shadow, they pump from our MP3 players. That’s right baby, summertime and the livings easy.
Summer heat just pushes it that much farther. All that heat and energy building, passing from skin to skin. Electric currents adding to it; crackling like lightning; aching for some release.
This is the birth of rock ‘n’ roll, casual drug use, and promiscuous sex, all of it. Southern heat is the mother and father of it all. Thats why the blue haired old bitty's hate it so much, they have to see so much of it every summer.
I truly miss those hot days of summer where it felt like every bit of me was glowing with the sun, almost outshining her rays. Summer makes the girls into women and the women into goddesses. We dance in her golden light and swing from her silver moon. Always the heat will be in me. Mine to hold on to and to dream of whenever I am stuck far up north in some blizzard with ice all around, I can think back to the scent of honeysuckle, gardenias and sunshine and smile because I will have had more of that blessed heat in a lifetime then some could have in a millennia.
As school lets out, the lighters light up, the skirts get short and the shorts get tight. When cops stop to watch; its not lack of trust, its lust. College parties start and suddenly 18 is 21, 16 is 18 and “How old are you?” is “Old enough.”
But the world keeps moving and the heat gets hotter and the adults get bitter, the kids get wilder as the air gets thicker. And God knows just because we get caught, which we do from time to time, that doesn’t mean we’ll stop going, we just shift the rhythm and tweak the rhyme, till on the outside we’ve changed our ways again, but on the inside it’s the same old sin.
