Cherry Pop

Under the fluorescent lights, she was met by her friend

with yellow hair so kinky, she salivated for a curly fry.

Jack In The Box.

She kissed her right cheek, stepped back to exchange words of embrace,

and let her eyes wander over her face.

Turns out, this Fry was salty.

The cold lights cast shadows on each crunchy makeup powder granule.

She saw every stray eyebrow hair unplucked in the too-bright lights and thought, how human.

Without intention, she accepted each ‘flaw’ instantly as a tasty treat, how interesting.

cherry pop

Platonic soul sister love, how powerful.

But in this friend she saw her foe.

Polluted thoughts clouded her mind and blocked her vision, and in she went!

Curly Fry’s lips kept moving but Squid Hair was blind! Deaf! Elsewhere, now,

fixated on her own pulsating chin,

on the cystic pimple she squeezed too soon.


If a pimple ready to pop is pus formed by oil called sebum, dead skin cells, and bacteria

ready to break through the surface,

this juicy papa was a closeted lesbian grandma. In too deep.

One who has peeked a gaze out the window, but never her whole head,

let alone her whole body. I mean, oh my!

Perhaps she has danced amongst the fairies during dawn and dusk,

but that was dancing, not leaving.

She had been shoved by lovers past, too soon!

Squeezed too hard and in she went!

Deeper, under the surface.

Fat with pus.

Crimson in flavor.

Uncomfortable to touch.

Squeeze soft and out it’ll pop, when grandma’s ready.

For now, change your bulbs to soft whites, papa.

what time
smooth dunes

The Smooth Dunes

Mascara perfectly cocoons each of her lashes. Long, dark, and sexy.

Penelope glimmers in the disco lights.

Flashes of silver bounce off her glazed over eyes, her crimson lip gloss that’s truly, as they say, poppin’,

and the silver earrings that frame her chiseled face. Tits perky, she’s the belle of the ball.

Coated with capitalist flesh (liquid foundation), her painted pimples remind him of the sand dunes of Morocco.

Patrick has always preferred the dunes to the Canyons, anyway. All is well.

Short, but still dark and handsome, he swings her ‘round left and she spins on her pointed heel

with her head whipped back in a giddy cackle. Penelope is enamored and they both know, he’s a lucky man.

He goes in for the kiss and Penelope loses herself, an animal unleashed.

Perfect Penelope fell off two martini’s and five twirls ago.

She tangles her fingers in his hair and lets him swallow her whole.

She peels her lips off his five songs later in a frenzy, but it’s too late.


How could she                                             !

How could she kiss                                     !

How could she kiss someone                     !

How could she kiss someone with stubble!

The smooth dunes were gone, wiped away in streaks.

Patrick had been hiking down the Grand Canyon, after all.

The disco flashed red. Red! RED! and she fled.

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