PoeticaL
cluttering the net since 2001

Spa'getties

Saturday, Dec. 07, 2002
I’m delirious. Not enough sleep. Was chatting to bry and he split to go put ham in the oven and I kept typing in the pm window because I just got onto a thought… Half the stuff I write just happens this way. I just start to ramble and maybe it all sucks, yeah..it for sure it does..Each line was entered one at a time, I removed my nick to make it easier to read…

i want a boy to make dinner for
can I make dinner for you boy?
can I wrap my spaghetti hair around your fingers?
i never feel this way
but tonight i wanna cook for a boy
i wanna find a boy with thin white fingers and wet lips and slicked back hair
who will sit in my dining room straightening my table cloth with his nervousness
while I throw wet spaghetti strands against the wall to see if they're done
i want to lean over the stove and know he's looking at my ass
then when i turn back to see his eyes, he's averted them to a picture on the wall....then he shifts in his chair
i want him to struggle with a bottle of wine, the corkscrew stuck...he places it between his thighs and I imagine his legs bare flexing their muscles
but I say nothing, just dish out the wet wiggly spaghetti onto my white boring plates
knowing that before the night is over, I'll suck one strand of spaghetti into my mouth and the sauce will make me look like I am Lucy with big red lips
when I suck it making it enter my mouth naked of it's red
i want to watch him eat with his head bent down and then I'll ignore that shininess on his scalp from the light being too bright over my small table
dying from the wire pressing against my rib bones, the wire of the black lace push up bra I wore
cooking dressed in lace, the things i do for lust
but he doesn't know yet, how the lace curls its way like ocean waves up and around the curve of my breasts
he doesn't know and this one thought stops me from leaving the room to change my clothes
into gap cotton tee's and boxers i have to roll down over my hips to keep them up around my waist
in my own mind i am crawling across the floor over and out of my black tied up shirt and he is moving towards me
in reality he is wiping his plate with a chunk of french bread that has a piece of the wrapper paper still stuck to the side of it
I don't tell him its there
i watch it disappear into his mouth wondering if I can kiss the leftover ink of those advertised promises later
he is german and his shirt keeps coming out of the back of his pants, he moves around in his chair loudly swallowing his wine talking through his mouthfuls of food
i remember that I have half of a cheesecake wrapped up tight in my refrigerator
i watch him spit tiny splatters of sauce like paint all over the white cotton robed table and I imagine cutting chunks of cheesecake, shoving them into my mouth while leaning over the kitchen sink,
I know I might do this because this...this strange boy is just not going to make me cum

Bry: OMG
Bry: Kwisty!!
Kwisty2k: what?
Bry: you need a NAP
Kwisty2k: you no like?
Bry: lol
Kwisty2k: its sorta weird eh?
Bry: i'm trying to cook dinner and you're writing erotica!
lol
Kwisty2k: I do not like green eggs and ham I want spaghetti Sam I am

7:09 p.m. ::
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