Sometimes...

Wait a second... I need a drink. Tonight it's Sapphire and tonic with a crescent of lime, slightly squeezed. Two, maybe three fingers of Sapphire in a rocks glass full of ice. Top with tonic and lime; stir.

Two, maybe three fingers of satiated desire.

I've also rolled a joint. I'm also also listening to Waylon Jennings on vinyl.

"Picking up hookers instead of my pen..." seems fitting as I haven't written much in the last few years. Minus the hookers part, truth be told. I've been a celibate son of a bitch (do those even go together?). After the break-up with Astarte I swore off women, relationships, love, trust...hell, anything resembling the female of the species. Sure, the break-up was my idea (I pretty much forced it to happen) and I wanted to be alone 24/7/365, but that doesn't mean I don't want (dig the mixed tense, grammar police).

The problem was (and is) that I'm not much of a dater. By 'not much' I mean not at all. Not once. In over two years.

In print that looks sad.

"Sometimes it's heaven, sometimes it's hell. Sometimes I don't even know."


M. PotPie