untitled work

her glance fixed solidly upon me as if a neural tick had caused her eyes to stop moving exactly as she was looking my way. i became a tumult of red faced unease; the butterflies in my stomach beat their wings so ferociously i felt sickened. ashamed, i chided myself for eating nana's butterfly collection out of spite earlier that evening. the wretched bitch hadn't fed me in days; i had had no choice, for i had had a hunger not unlike that of a starving third world child who had never had anything his entire life except vicarious purpose through metaphorical reference. and just as the slum flies buzzed around his starving countenance, my heart buzzed at the prospect of an encounter with the beauty across from me.

her lips beckoned, poised suitably above her chin. her elbows were those of a goddess, affording a wider range of motion than would be possible without them. alas. her princess ears must have heard my adoration for my inner monologue was flowing audibly like my tourettes. fuck! ck. gg-gg. aaaaaaaaasssss! all was not lost. i noted to self to remember to tivo Lost that night, after making sweet love to that which i beheld before me. then, averting my eyes from my sweaty palms, i once again tried to meet her gaze. but it was not to be for hers was buried deeply in her book, which rested gently in the valley of her lap, where the pastures must have been as green as eden, not in a sea-of-evolving-micro-organisms sense because that would be gross. my stop was approaching.

[tune in next time for the continuation]