Short Short Story...(while at work)

Its 9:59pm...i'm a bit bored and tired. LOL dealing with people all day can wear you OUT! Personalities...wow! In any event I decided that before I read again, for the umpteenth time, my literary dad, Lin Ross's, book 'Manhood: The Longest Moan;' i'd sit down and let my fingers run across the keys. So here I am. Whatever. lol





     What is this?

     I couldn’t bring it to myself to lie. I had been in a place of wondering just how things could get better. I knew that with his entrance into my life things couldn’t do anything but get better. He sailed into my moment with midnight breath exposing my anorexic ventricles, he knew my heart was malnourished, and he quickly stood before me, the very epitome of a rescue mission. He was ‘Bring Bread to the Starved Missions,’ and I was war-torn Sarajevo; in desperate need of his fickle, yet potent melody.

     He came with a surge of business, power, passion, and this darkness obscured by his dry humor. He made it clear there was nothing sexual or remotely romantic to be had…this was just a connection for the cultivation of entrepreneurship…you know, strictly black capitalism…I was breathless having dropped my speech on the ground some four miles back. I wasn’t sure what would transpire though I suspected he was smitten by something stark and vastly different in me…something beyond sexuality…it was the beauty of kinship…with us both being in the arts. I exhaled after our meeting watching his retreating figure, the lights sliding wild steps off the sharp broadness of his shoulders…his militaristic bearing a moving erection caressing the folds of nighttime leaving trails of jasmine on the air.

‘Yes, this would indeed be something to look forward to.’

     I thought as I quickly walked out of the hotel foyer, hailing a taxi that would take me back uptown to my silent loft, cooked in blue noise and amber silences. I smiled this long smile, my eyes staring in the dark painting crying images of him…this would be interesting indeed.

haiku

waited for the shank

of cold words stabbin’ now leave

jagged cuts of real.

©2011/bloodspeaks