“Imagine there’s no Heaven…”
The sun is a purveyor of existence-
A God enslaved to its objective.
Permitted to touch its creatures
If clouds allow. There was bedlam
On the porch, cornered by the overcast
Of a stunted afternoon. I held
The Flowers of Evil;
Sweated onto the paperback binding,
Influenced by coffee and secondhand smoke.
Libby anchored on the couch,
As calm as the sun amidst clouds,
Chain smoking and drinking PBR.
“For a woman sex is very psychological,”
She said. “I mean I had this cat
And my friend Ryan said he’d pay
For my cats vet visit,”
She stubbed her cigarette out
On the lip of an empty beer can.
A gust wafted through the screens
Sprinkled ashes upon Libby’s
Dress; decorated in a floral pattern
And paint stains. “And one night
Me and Ryan were doing speedballs
He got so horny he wanted to fuck.
I figured why not, ya know,
He was paying for the vet bill.
I had to take care of my cat,”
She spoke with an assuring tone-
Like a mother willing to suck a maniac’s prick
To spare her children of murder.
“So he went down on me-
Once he was finished
He kissed me. I was embarrassed
Because it tasted so bad. Almost like
My mind didn’t want it
So my pussy became toxic. I told him
While he was in me
That I felt nothing. He almost started crying
So I blew him to prevent tears.”
The overcast broke, shadows fragmented
Over our bodies-
Like a puzzle content
To remain incomplete: I dropped
The Flowers of Evil,
Held the burden of air
In its stead. A nothingness
Capable of everything.
“I never want to have sex again,”
I told her. “Don’t even want to jerk off.”
Libby smiled. “I can’t get myself off anymore,”
She said. “Why’s that?” I asked.
She stared out the window
A fleck of sunlight coated her gaze.
“I guess there’s too much else
To think about.”