aren't you a little
self absorbed, she
says, while scratching
my back and rubbing
oil into my shoulders.
everyday, writing all
of this stuff down,
making up these little
stories and calling
it poetry. for your
information, you're
no robert frost buddy.
a little to the left
i tell her. it itches
badly, right there,
feels like a bug bite
or something,
ooh, ooh, there it
is, oh yeah. yes!
you got it. can
you knead those
muscles a little
deeper and harder,
don't worry about
hurting me, use your
knuckles and don't
forget the legs. i
love having my legs
rubbed. those are
the roads less
traveled. oh my god,
i'm in heaven.
okay, now what
were you saying?
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