| dewy decimal |
2003-09-26 - 3:35 a.m.
Sometimes I can be a filthy little slut. Throwing people off, when most of the time I'm prude and snooty and then, wham, they'll find me with some boy�s hands down my pants, catching my lovejunk in their dirty mits. I let them follow the groove, in the small of my clammy-smooth back, down to the jut of my ass, tracing my spine with a couple of steady fingers. And it's not love in my mind, it's altogether different, somehow more voluntary.
Because I don't waste my time honing miracles in button-up poplins, cross-legged on Saturday nights. Because I only half believe in certain proliferated miracles celebrated mid-February. Because miracles aren't things you can expect like menopause or sunrise.
Because I like to suprise myself, which is a miracle sometimes,
in and of itself.