The ConvertibleThe ConvertibleTracing the outline of her face on the photograph, she sighed fondly over those happy days. The whole gang, somehow all crammed into that convertible, waving at the camera.There was Billy, a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he dumped cigarette ashes onto his brother Joel’s hair. Joel, the scoundrel, was leaning in close to Barbara, trying to steal a kiss. She had slapped him soon after if memory served correctly.Then there were Ashley and Ashley- no relation, but you would never know by looking at them. They were as close as sisters- as close as twins- could ever be without sharing blood. They were in the front, fighting for control of the radio.Poor Doug. He sat behind the wheel, begging everyone not to destroy his nice car. Not that his pleas stopped soda stains from coloring the leather seats.And there she was: youthful, fresh, full of life, and taking it all in. Yes, those had been happier days. Days of reckless, carefree, “never grow old
Words of lust."Everyone's a poet in this town."She smirked;"What makes you,Your words so different?"...And I showed her;words that played across her limbs,wrote in permanency;The sharpie is mightier,than the pen;than the sword;Every word,whispered;was a word;tongued unto her body,cross neck and thighs;Those words,imprinted;To the very depths,of her soul,that shook her body;...After;Her body glistened,with my words,that played;And I pulled her close,black permenancy smeared;softly spoken,"Does that answer your question?";...She smiled.