Library Dreams

 

When I sit in the library, on those grey, rainy days of autumn, (even if it is spring), and the rapping of the heavy raindrops turn the thin roof into their personal percussion set, I wonder “Why?”

Why the girl wearing her beautiful face and thick brown hair is so unbelievably distracting? Her ethereal walk, like a cool breeze in a desert of alcohol, captures my wet glance and imprisons it forever.
Her tight blue jeans, decorated with shiny little beads, outlined tribal patterns and flowers of all sizes. Attached on her two back-pockets, (that is on her two well-rounded buttocks), lay two shiny butterflies, swaying in turns; left, right, left, right.

 

And suddenly I see them flapping their wings, (bodies still attached on butt), and sing:

“What if we fly towards her crack? Is that better for her record track?”
“What if we fly apart, and stretch her butt-cheeks ajar? Is that some sort of body-art?”
“Maybe we should fly up! We know she would like that.”
“Ha! Maybe we should fly down,” said the one wearing the crown.
“No please. That will make her drown.”
“Don’t worry. She’ll be wearing a fluffy gown.”

.....

This said the butterflies and decided to stay, forgetting all about their jovial play.
And there sat I, itching to say: “Jesus that was sexist and possibly gay.”

.....

back