Ramblings -- I
(But as Mike was rambling with considerable fortitude about the inner workings of a car and the various ways that Florida threw their last football game or whatever trite nonsense men discuss over their mountains of beer bottles and clouds of ugly breath, Mary was pondering the physical and emotion ramifications of leaving him—for as a man he lacked in areas that were severely important in the maintaining of mutual happiness within a relationship, and further more she noticed him becoming increasingly distant and aloof; between her faked moans and twitches during her nightly duties that she so foolishly agreed to take part of on that fateful wedding day with the idyllic candle wax dripping on the carpet and the purple carnations like candy lining the hall seated by apparitions of smiling faces with faux ephemeral blessings bestowed upon the sanctity of marriage and he said I take thee Mary as my lovely wedded wife [Ha! Such words that were once coated in some saccharine candy-like veil and promises suited in armor are now rotted away], that his touches were no longer supple, soft, and passionate. His hands that used to be so longing and sensual as they rubbed up her back and over her luscious pink hills and through her sullen green valleys so raucously that reality was blurred and she had to reassess the differences between her faking her moans and her moans being true were now careless and limp, much like that useless tool that trudged along the inside of her like a challenged snake or perhaps a worm, and his breath that was tinged pink by lust was now stale and bored. Mary nowadays could not tell who was faking the best: he or she. Or maybe that derivative form of hope that lined the ulterior edges of their long lost love for each other, that last saving grace sent from heaven, has now faded away, like the smoldering flames of the fallen Tartarus. And smoke lined the corridors of Mt. Olympus.)
Copyright © Marc-Enzo Alexander | Year Posted 2014
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