on being immortal

the clusterfuck on another sunday long, long, long ago placed me here right now.

I’ve had beautiful women around me keeping me company because I like beautiful women. They are by far and large, all sexy. I look at their hands and then their eyes and back at their mouths. Hot. I tallied the number of women I’ve dated since the debacle of the Jen Heart Day | 2019 and I’m in the <20-50 numbers so far. I can’t quite make my mind up on this current one. I like her but last night’s malattempt at a kiss goodnight ranged anywhere from my first ever kiss… ever. It was horrible. Awkward and I left nearly immediately thinking, omg, what the fuck was that. What am I turning into? Dating is strange to me. One woman told me flat out, “I want to wake up with my legs around my lover and be in love and fuck and have sex and make love with just her.” I thought to myself, mmmmmm, yeah, that’d be nice. I miss her. I feel her energetically sometimes and this past Friday night through daylight was miserably hard and lovely too.

peerpocalypse 2018 | seaside, oregon

I am so full of myself as to write an open letter to them all. all of the women and in my best smile, it does ring true. it may not make any sense, but i promise goodness, lofty visions of sweaty limbs and body parts stuck to other body parts and slow kisses on sunday mornings at the real ghosting hour.

dearest lovely where are you beloved be here

xox

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