Sunday Morning Cartoons

I kissed my lover's forehead and swung my legs to the side of the bed
and dangled my feet for a few seconds before making my retreat
to the cold linoleum floor.  He asked me where I was going and I said,
Don't worry about it Darling...I'll be back in a jiffy.  And with that
everything was fine and spiffy until about an hour later when I hadn't
returned to my lover laying with the satin sheets covering only
his bottom half. He too swung his white legs to the side of the bed
but did not hesitate and dangle his feet, no, he made a thump when he
hit the floor, and making so many unnecessary sounds stomped around
screaming my name and slamming doors. He called me a whore when he
threw open the sliding-glass door and saw another man showering
my body with passionate kisses, and he said he wanted to
fuckin' kill him and he totally could considering
how high he was towering over this one; there clearly was no match, so
to play fairly he just stormed back inside and lit a match
and then his cigarette, made three lines in the snow and started rolling
a dollar bill until I suddenly stumbled in and said:
what the fuck are you doing, you prick? and in response he just flicked
his cigarette.  He did his three precious lines and dashed out the front
door grabbing his car keys on the way.  I had nothing to say.

I shrugged my shoulders and went out back and grabbed the gardener
with moist lips still awaiting my return, and I grasped his shirt collar
feverishly and pulled him inside and told him to take a sip of the whiskey
waiting on the ice to be swept away and enter a warm blood stream.  With
eyes beaming, he hurriedly gripped the glass with sweating hands
and threw back his head and I almost thought he was dead from the force
behind that, but all was well in my lustful realm.  He parted his lips, and he
whispered into my ear: I'd like to put you in a trance, whiskey air
drifting, and I just nodded my head as we laid together in my ex-lover's bed.