It’s all staged,
she told him before turning around. He
undressed her with his eyes as she
proceeded to do so, continuing with
her display of perfection, which can be validated
through the eyes of God, the being who
created us in said being’s own image. She didn’t speak
often, and this sometimes bothered him, but
they all spoke louder than words. He
enjoyed it. He could stare at her,
and she’d smile back. She’d serve him coffee,
and it would give him the same buzz
and yield the same adoration.
(Be sure to tip your waitress.)
When it came down
to it, the relationship is what it is, and
the lack of pressure,
the absence of stress,
the ability to gulp deep, soothing breaths
was more than anybody could ask for.
I’m trying to watch the program, he said;
and she’d smile as she crept forward
and sat on his lap,
and without saying a word she
touched the back of his head, pulling
him closer. Her nose grazed his with
purpose; he smiled for the distraction,
and a slight cold sweat prepared his skin.
His eyes close.
She smiled, responding due to the gratification.
The food smells delicious, he said;
and she stopped right before
she could tease him with her lips;
a piece of paper could barely fit in between
the pairs. His hot breath excited her,
the breath bursts succeeded in curling
the lips. Yeah, she replied, fluidly
sliding off of him one leg at a time. He got up
and went into the kitchen with
her leading the way. The muffins for the party
sat, cooling, in the tray and upon the counter.
He smiled at her, and he leaned
over the curling steam, closing
his eyes and breathing deep. Sticking out one of
his fingers, an attempt to break one apart for
his satisfaction. She smiled as she previously promised
that he could have a sample; more than enough had been
prepared. She moved the rope barrier so
he could let his fingers to the walking as
he picked at the muffin tray, cutting through
the rope barrier with scissoring legs. Very good,
he commented, and lept over to her, grabbing
her butt with both hands firmly. She laughed, and
play-slapped his face, squeezing his cheeks. I’m starving, he said, and
this party cannot start any earlier. Be patient, she assured, and
we’ll be eating brunch soon enough. He stroked
her jaw with his thumb, pressing slighly, and she guided his hand
down to her neck, squeezing his hands slightly–
in that moment
–as she closed her eyes, smiling with a bit lip. She
guided his hand down her chest and side
and back down to her thigh. I’m going
to change, she said
before leaving him and going upstairs.
(Reminder to tip your waitress.)
he ran down the the kitchen while buttoning
up his shirt. She was crying to the point where heaving
up sobs sounded like vommitting. What’s the matter, he asked, looking her
up and down as she crouched by the sink. They’re ruined, she choked out.
What are, he questioned? The muffins, she squeaked, they’re burnt!
It’s okay, he assured her, kneeling down next to her. We can bring those,
and we can pick up some at the store to be safe. It’s just not the same,
she said. This happens sometimes,
he assured her, holding her hand as she danced around the inevitable.
(No one is perfect. Results may vary.)
It’s all staged,