Summer of the taraxacum officinale

I love when cold air kisses my skin and chills my blood. I feel alive.

It’s chilly for summer. The neighbor mowed over the dandelions. Jerk.

When fascination turns to obsession, I never win. I keep refreshing myspace with the hopes that he is still awake. Maybe he’ll contact me. Childish. I know.

I can’t sleep. I’m being forced to socialize with my father-in-law tomorrow. He always stares at my boobs when he talks to me.

I want Kellbilly Jim to move into the spare bedroom. There are rough tides in the marital bed and I wish not to float along like nothing happened. His anger gets the best of him.

There is no easing a fragmented heart.

I sometimes fantasize of horrible things happening to him. Bad karma. But he deserves it. I’m just glad he has bad aim. I don’t want to be bloody and bruised.

Well, I take that back. Bruise me with lips. I like that. Crush them into my skin as tender fingers glide over my body. Nibble and suckle my neck as I shudder with ecstasy.

He doesn’t know tender. He grinds into me like a rapist. He only takes what he wants.

The grass has to be greener on the other side because this is no way to live.

But I don’t want to be alone.