Clowns fly around you.

You're all up in the hair I grew when I was fucking you.

I can't seem to get you out of my pores.
I don't understand. Cause I counted some tears.
So shouldn't my pussy be wrought with some fear?

But it wants you. Everything wants you. My toes. My knees. My breasts. These trees.

All want you.

It's troublesome. It's meddlesome.

I think I might be a little obsessed... with the sex. I'm not sure if I've been drugged or this is some kind of spell but honestly my desire completely overwhelms me. It might be scientific & all have to do with my hormones but honestly at this point I doubt it.

Because there's only one recurring thought.

Over & over.

Just one face.

I'm alarmed at myself. I'm not sure if it's because I've been retired for so long that a fresh young whipper snapper got me a little too teaked or if I've actually been drugged.

I'm banking on drugs.

But again that's more than likely my pride speaking, I'm secure enough to admit defeat. A girl wants some of that. Right now. Yesterday. This morning. Last night. Next year.

I've fallen back in love with sex.

& it flabbergasts me.

I feel a little new. A little younger. A little fresher.

My car helps, the freedom it affords is everything. I can wake up in the morning & drive to the beach with my prayer mat to pray. Without worrying about one single bastard cab driver.

Not all cab drivers are bastards though. Some are quiet nice & honest. But most are complete shits.

But they ain't nunna my concern no more.

I hate this weather though, I wash my car in the morning & it's dirty again by evening.

When is it going to end?