in progress

A text message from my phone to a new number a friend gave it to me I didn't save it, that friend, she related a story about another friend giving my old lover a blowjob. A funny story, I pressed my tongue into the ulcer in my mouth and listened.

There is grapefruit oil to smell tho I can't smell it, evaporating in hot water, I live with three boys now and that's what a girl's gotta do.

We make fun of their cocks but we're mad missing something is missing.

There's been no reply, here we are, print outs papering the desk, a notebook and a word document, inkstained to the teeth, we look for music and clickaway too-young girls, stars between their legs, imagined faces outside of the frame.

They. Us. We offer ourselves like pralines.

Stale coffee in my mouth and my friend's mouth on him over and over and over in I press my tongue in further.

No reply.

Stale coffee and my reflection in a black window I look up and fall in I'm out to sea floating out trailing ballast, pens and papers, pixels and grapefruit oil

(I used to post a great deal long ago but now I don't, if I do it's all still in progress)