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The place smelled like a florist
shop (or funeral, depending
on where your head is at).
She was completely stunned,
and helpless against my kiss.
When she kissed me back,
I delivered the coup de grâce,
making love to her on a bed
blanketed thickly with petals.
OUR TRUCE
Has been an uneasy one, exacerbated
by, of all things, Thanksgiving
tomorrow. Never let a woman
watch the cooking channel.
Especially not as the holiday
season approaches. After one
Saturday marathon, Nikki got
it in her head that she was going
to make a turducken. Not only
that, but she wanted to host the day
for her dad (who, I’m pretty sure,
would much rather spend it boinking
his boss), her mom (whose method
of drowning out that soap opera
is a pricey bottle of scotch), and me.
Now even if I wanted to deal with all
of the above, which I soooo don’t,
my mom expects my presence at
her dinner table. It’s like being married,
only worse because I’m not married,
