Seasonal Arousal
BY NYDIA MONROY
Gold hoops,
ripped jeans resting on swaying hips, and my highlight—my highlight will illuminate the gloomiest Sunday. It is Sunday, and I am not at Mass. Men’s T-shirts, maroon panties and un-kept hair, soy vigorosa. Vagina also starts with a V—if you can study the first for Spanish three-oh-whatever, you can sit through a class without being appalled upon hearing the second. I dream of drinking you through a steel straw, all sugar, no cream. Some say I should keep my dreams in journals. I will write the next best-selling sex novel and include all of your names in the acknowledgments. I dream of dropping, falling silk and linen leaves, it is Autumn in this bedroom and sweaters are so overrated. Is there anything more enticing than a dark red? My glasses fog up when hot coffee touches my lips on Winter mornings, my glasses fog up when my lips touch his on Winter mornings. Do you sip your coffee like you zip up your pants? Reluctantly, Letting the warmth consume you, sometimes I need two cups. I want the Summer sun on my body. To glisten under the rays of light. To mute the unwanted trails of whistles and howls of Summer. The trick is not to give two fucks, Because seasons cum and go, you tremble and I am tired of being told It’s okay if I don’t. Gold hoops, ripped jeans resting on swaying hips, caminando sin disculpas, |