Little Magic

A thousand unmarked dollars to the first one that can call her all his own and then destroy her with a smart remark or collar stained with someone else’s lipstick – a brash tint of whorish red. A 50 dollar bonus to describe her lonesome bed – the arabs call it Rub al Khali – as anarchic as Somalia but without the machine guns – you must first describe the sun pouring over the bed’s morning, use the Mohs scale to rate the siren’s lonely mooring, the comforter (laid neatly, or slipping off discretely to the floor?) – what’s more, there’s twenty greenbacks in it if you can, say, somehow pin it on her that I was above all perfect, without flaw.

Given time, all codes are broken and even dumb girls learn the stroke he likes the best – if given just enough time to compress the information down to habit – there is very little magic in the world.


~ by perfectionatrix on February 14, 2012.

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