Sex and the Chengshi
It wasn't the weather that sent shivers up my spine. It was Da. Although we'd hit our stride in the bedroom, outside of his apartment...we were stumbling. Why is it that just when a man reveals his sensitive side to you, the side that doesn't crave to hump you, he throws a big black cape over it, like a magician hiding what's in his hat? Are we supposed to just assume the rabbit is in there, and hold on for the big finale? Why are we such a captive audience?
As I kissed Da goodbye and walked to work sipping my milky coffee, I couldn't help but wonder: Is there Magic between us, or is it all just a cheap trick?
3 comments:
i found your incisive blog.
this time it's sharpness cushioned with visuals that could make a maelstrom stir with envy, kinda like mini marshmellows in a cup of hot cocoa, susceptible to your pleasant la-di-da tone.
did that make sense?
probably not: it's 4:39 am here. simply read: i love your blog.
you'll notice that i deleted all my previous blogposts out of fear that my confessional personal diary was incriminating. what a silly thing to do. always rummaging and rattling away, i did tuck and archive 'em away in a safe place.
maybe you (and paper tiger)'s writings will soon boost my own...
warm (en)trails,
bunny fu-fu
i wish i were a lesbian who could hit on you and make lots of drunken irish and chinese babies with you.
Post a Comment