v u l v a l i c i o u s
XXXXXXXXXXXXXX (eks) XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The same song is playing in my head, but at a lower volume. I vocalize on occassion, but not often enough to be noticed. It's funny how silent we are in the mornings until something shatters it and conversation comes in tiny spurts. I sing myself lullabies and wake up wake up wake up.
And she is coming today, and I am excited. There is energy bubbling under my fingers, pop pop pop and tiny gurgling noises. Water to boil on the stove and the tea awaiting its warmth in a cup on the counter. The tea is black with rose petals, and I like to breathe it in, falling in between the spaces of old and new, regenerating some part of myself that falls away without the taste of flowers and honey.
But it's always a different her, and so I wait for another, typing with one eye looking over the cubicle, mind wandering here and there, and I am wondering when she'll come.
And part of me is lonely right now, and cannot wait; and part of me is lonely right now and knows it must wait; it is this confusion, this juxtaposition, with which I am enamored. Contradict me, internal contradictions, infernal clattering clashes that surpass the skies. The thought of so many hard C sounds creates a pleasant rattle in my brain.
Meanwhile, I cannot stop making the letter X appear in the margins of every page in every notebook. X X X. Eks, I think to myself. I stop before writing it, thinking it silly to see a sea of X X X with the word "eks" inscribed inside of it. What does it mean, that curious X?
And where is she? She's never late, you see.
My Cunt is a mystery which even I have not solved. Take joy in that.