sometimes I write silly poetry.

Daily Digressions

He asked me if I’m still faking and have I been keeping up with my daily flossing. I tell him no to both, but only because I enjoy the bright red color and mild tingle when on occasion, I do. Let us begin this brazen journey by moving to Brazil. I’ve read that in Rio the roses grow higher and the women remove their wear. It’s the summertime, so those plutocrats will make a mild push toward the Hamptons, swimming in hammocks and drinking daydreams. Happy happenstance.

It’s the summertime, so the berries will eat the trees while we are both picked from the bush and placed neatly in the woven basket with the checkered cloth. Then he’d smile and chastise me for my bleeding gums and white feminine form. It’s times like these that I love him the most, directly before the quagmire and the Quaaludes. Or whatever he calls it these days.

“I could go for a coincidence,” he says, shining his coins. Unfortunately, I’m not one for serendipity, or even sensibility. Following the bottle of Pinot, I’d be persuaded to paraphrase this life in prose because my cheeks have turned pink. But then he’d laugh and say he is feeling facetious, so can we feign consistency? My body laughs back and says it’s all inconsequential.