type slowly.

or: You’re a Prick.

Posted in words by Lara Crombie on August 17, 2009

yeah, irritated.

a dozen tiny pricks.

Newspaper clippings and a faint odor of refrigerated takeout, I explained to you that these things make me sad as we’re seated in a way, my leg tucked under its fellow; soon I’ll complain of a dozen tiny pricks violating my thighs, but for now yours is the only prick in violation, so I lean forward and slap the nearest hand in an unfriendly motion you mistake as foreplay, or wordplay, or a play on words, like something’s pun-y, and we laugh out loud and to ourselves, since the rules haven’t changed; I’m without a sports analogy, like “the best offense is a good defense”; no matter, your offense is wine and mine is like; that’s liking you, in a way that feels like yawning and heartburn and standing up after sitting for too long; you know we’ve sat too long when we walk out of balance.

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