When NBA players get old or break an ankle, the time then comes to learn Chinese, because the Shanghai Sharks will pay for play, I don’t know how much but it is hefty. On your couch we watch a shitty comedy movie. I don’t want to say it’s lowbrow how Rob Riggle (is that really his name?) gets his dick shot off because I also laughed, then, too, and you thought it was a slick time to put your arm around me. How long have we known each other? How many times have we been on this couch? But the movie ends and you don’t touch me. We go to sleep and tomorrow morning I will scroll on my phone and wait. And hey, it’s not like that, before you assume. I can hardly think of a greater luxury than to lie next to a man and feel nothing is expected of you. But if you get your dick shot off I think I will still weep to know that a part of you is hurting and I could never, ever relate to it. I guess I have also been in pain. I guess that is not the point. The point is the Shanghai Sharks. The point is, if I had been a six foot eight basketball player. The point is immunity, like your body decays and then regenerates in another continent. The point is man, I really love you to death, because with you even death feels non-violent, like accidentally tripping and then recovering yourself, like I haven’t done anything to myself that I can’t tell my grandmother. We will someday live in a house on a street with an allée. Swim with the Shanghai Sharks when they come on our TV. I will not think about thousands of dicks snapping off, clean, rinse, repeat, let the light in when the sun breaks and watch the dust diffusing off the curtains.
VIXIV