the gamey (dreamy) variety
The sphincters and para-sphincters [***]; no good asking why he had not stuck it; he hadn’t and that was… kept on being… that.
What it was was sexual weakness, he snorted. You just couldn’t hang in there, could you, when the bed-life wound down.
Not to spoil the morning. It was a pristine day: zippity doo-da. The seven-o’clock sun streaked the liveoaks orange.
(Copyright 2018 James Mansfield Nichols. All rights reserved.)