Lovers the looks of which could have been culled from teenage television laid up in the backseat of a family sedan nearing the more dangerous ridges of lover’s lane. “I don’t care if it does have green hair,” said the girl half to the boy. “I don’t care if it is limpwristed or even limbless. I don’t care if it’s disfigured or lopsided or hunchbacked or if its genitals have been ripped to shreds. If it’s blind, deaf, autistic, if it’s schizophrenic, if it has gills – I want it. If it’s yours, I want it.” The lovers made a pact that night and under latent boulders and the light of a new moon they consummated it. The usual time later a miserable child built much to the rhetorical specifications spoken the night of its conception was given to the persevering lovers, too in love with each other.
No comments:
Post a Comment