I have no desire to be wild, but if I must--

[71degrees]

"I can feel you here,"
he crept into the dead drum of
my ear, and I crushed my fingers into
the left of his ribs and sought for anything
from that hound: no blood spoor
to glut the appetite.

Two more beers, child, and you'll be
flowers
bleeding the pollen of a harlot
and he'll be the
bees.

(in hindsight)
Mother warned me about this.

After reading this I couldn't help but think of all the recent Bill Cosby scuttle. Sorry, I'm weird. I do like the ending. Almost prophetic, in a birds-and-bees (oops, too late…told you so) kind of way. Not sure of the "hound" image. Too much imagery in such a short "spurt" (so to speak) and my brain is on overload trying to decipher everything. I do think w/certain formatting (italicized thoughts / spoken words, both narrator's and perhaps even mother's) that on paper this could be wonderful in presentation. Enjoyed reading it. Almost an "aha" moment kind of atmosphere.