She Eats Ranchero Chicken

She smiles and moans after every bite.

She eats alone and enjoys it.

Sometimes, she cuts a small piece and barely parts her lips sucking in the serving.

Sometimes, she tears off an amount I am not sure she can fit into her mouth with her unmanicured fingernails and playfully tosses it in her dark gaping salivating hole.

Her inconsistency makes me unstable.

A creamed nibble falls on her forearm.

She moves the mess to her mouth, and her tongue darts out and licks the blankness off her brown skin.

I can hear the tinny click as she drags her teeth down the fork’s prongs.

I want her to use her oral space more slowly.

I want to put my finger between her gap tooth grin.

Oh God, she orders another course.

My blood courses divergent paths to my cheeks and my loins.

I must feed her dessert.

botticelli venus versus hottentot venus of willendorf

Emperor Caligula declared war on Poseidon and ordered his soldiers to thrust their spears into random, threatening, foaming waves.

i approach wearing only a gauntlet.

i slap her pale cheek with the heavy glove creating a small, bloody crack in her perfection.

i remove the violent hand covering.

naked, i toss it, and it lands on the cutting, shell’s edge.

offended, she tries to pierce my eye with her slave cupid’s arrow.

refusing to be blinded by love’s aggression, i duck my head and spit in her navel cavern,

i pounce on her and intertwine my legs with hers.

i indian leg wrestle her.

i flip that bitch.

she submits.

she offers no wishes. she is a defeated goddess not a genie.

she offers to answer one prayer.

“venus, please bring him back to me even if he never loves me or recognizes me. i just want to see his face one more time. i just want to breathe in the molecules that once caressed him.”

she smiles enchantment and answers, “no.”

i murder her and eat her hoping to take on her immortal soul.

she, like me and other women of sea origin, was soulless.

i eat love and am still empty.

sticking it to the man reading craigslist while at work?

“I really shouldn’t be doing this.”

Her title cheekily reads, “Sticking It to The Man Cruising Craigslist At Work?”

He hardens as he glances at the erotic pictures below the ad.

“How does she come up with this stuff? Oh God, what if she’s a dude?”

Heel clicks approach.

He minimizes but cannot close her window.

His boss fills his cubicle entrance and looks down at him with  a third concern, a third frustration, and a third of something unreadable.

Twenty three minutes, two bemused, stifled, co-worker, bodiless, giggles, and one public corrective action later, he is alone in his cramped box.

Chewed out, he bites his upper lip and closes his eyes.

On the insides of his eyelids, he plays the tape forward.

He answers her(?) latest ad telling her how he first read her weeks ago and would recognize her writing style anywhere.

The first time, he was in a hurry, and bookmarked it to read later. He came back, and it was flagged for deletion.

And, now he constantly trolls craigslist personal ads hoping for her words, when he should be contributing to the new frontiers of life insurance actuary.

Then, he makes some funny remark about accessing the risk of contacting her, maybe with an Anias Nin quote thrown in for good measure.

She writes back something quirky, brief, and intriguing.

He responds the same day with a hopefully as equally inspired message and a picture of him playing in the pool with his niece and nephew. He thinks this a brilliant move showing his defined, freckled chest and his love of kids.

Not so subtle of him, but he senses she prefers blunt force.

She sends a note reading only “moi” with a picture attachment.

He clicks the paperclip icon and is stunned.

She’s a statuesque Amazon with flaming, flowing red hair.

Hmmm, a little intimidating.

She’s a petite pearl of an Asian woman with almond, exotic eyes and…

“Are you sleeping?”

He slams his eyes open and mumbles something about a migraine.

She shrugs and walks away.

It occurs to him that maybe he could google one of the stanzas from her poem and find a book or site about his Raphaelite beauty or China doll.

He copies and pastes her sexiest poem into the search engine.

And, he finds her blog!

He presses his cursor to the About section hoping to glimpse his allusive, literary sex goddess.

“Oh my God, how can someone so fat, be so sexually active?”

Thoughts of her, send him to the gym.

Thoughts of her, force him to the communal men’s shower.

“I really shouldn’t be doing this.”