Tilting Forward
This is running time, like your spontaneous footprint tracks over my couch. “Come on you little wasted pipe! Fragile, fragile, fragile.” He lifted his finger softly to point at the rusted iron ornaments surrounding her apartment. “This is what you don yourself with?” “I bought them on Merland and 22nd.” “Louder! Brighter! More erect!” “Your drunkenness can’t find poetry.” “And what? Have you found poetic discharge in an antique shop selling over-priced, visual pleasures? Your ornamental poetry I’ve read six hundred times over! Scoff at my liquor body all you please, but please hide behind your delicately aged vase filled with flowers, otherwise…” His eyes peeled white all over. “Otherwise what?” “Otherwise, your face will be seen.” He smiled, tilting forward. “Your smugness is unattractive.” “Your attractiveness is smug.” He grabbed his cock bulge over his pants. “Leaving on a high note!” Laughing, he left through her door. “You’re an asshole!” He laughed harder, and allowed her door to lay open behind him so she could hear his laughter till she slammed the door shut.