by Jackson Warfield
it’s just too easy
to fall in love with a piece of flesh
so much so
that you think of nothing else
but the curve of her ass
the jiggle of her tits
the beauty of her face
if you’re infatuated with those three
everything else is put aside
she could be a terrible, rotten bitch
or a whining, sniveling brat
or she could be so obnoxious
to listen to, so annoying to be around
that you are constantly considering suicide
or even homicide
but you’ll look beyond those traits
tell yourself, “naw, she ain’t that bad.”
but there’ll come a day
somewhere down the line
when you’re dragging her shopping bags
making her meals
and plunging her shit
paying for it all
right out of your own pocket
and you’ll stop a moment
and ask yourself,
“now, how the fuck did it come to this!?”
it did the trick
she wasn’t much of a kisser
but then, neither was I.
she’d sucked my cock
and we’d already banged
a couple times
so I thought we could go
a little bit further
“baby,” I said to her
slow and clear, trying to speak
so she could understand
“let’s take this
to the next level.”
“what you want to do?”
she asked, fear
and excitement in her eyes
“okay, I said. “This might sound weird,
but I really like it.”
“what is it!?”
“and afterwards,
I’ll do the same for you-”
“tell me what is it!”
“okay, okay,” I said,
rolling over onto my stomach.
“go ahead
and scratch my ass cheeks!
Just drag your nails right across them.
"Oh, yeah!”
drunk again
he told me he liked
drinking
because it gave him an excuse
to fuck anything he
wanted.
I told him I agreed,
in a way.
told him that, for me
drinking
was like putting a condom
on my entire life
giving me the excuse
to fuck anything
I want to
up.
Jackson Warfield lives in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. If he could talk to any inanimate object, it would be the beer in his hand, so he could say to it, "you're about to go down, motherfucker!" You can find more of his work at
jacksonwarfield.com.
