Trigger warning: the following piece contains imagery involving metaphorical miscarriage. Please don’t read if this notion upsets you.
“Sapiosexual Seeks Same”
© Jane Bled 2017
Sapiosexual seeks like-minded partner to engage in spontaneous ejaculation, summa cum laude, via telepathic communication. Desirable qualities: intact wit, turgid intelligence, seductive speech patterns. Sex on the first date is acceptable, if compathy proves comorbid with chemistry.
Kiss me there.
Virile performance: a reoccurring mental orgasm that persists beyond the clutch of pleasure. Asynclitic love-child wiggles forward. Hostess ridden bareback-weary, womb downtrodden like the hooves of pigs upon after-rain farmland. The discomfiting stench of insincerity quiets revelatory eurekas: “God that reeks of romance!” wafts at each surge of the updraft. Eschewing a light-sabered grip on eternity and flipping it two crooked middle fingers, plus flailing at shadows who pitch for nine innings without relief, stunts growth. Tongues stutter to clash with crocodilian fusillades of false reassurance. Hydra, as yet undefeated, concludes in inviable fetus. Miscarried hypothesis: insanity confirmed (vehemently denied).
Conclusion: Fruitless reach. Sterile speech. Next test subject, please.
Once you lose a piece of yourself, you can’t retrieve it; however, you can reconstruct, and recover.
Happy Friday. 🙂 Thank you for reading.