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July 6 - July 6, 2023
backpedals faster than a Baptist walking into a dance hall.
a one-boobed wonder.
Annabel Lee
my hair looks like a discarded bird’s nest every time I get where I’m going.
offering a job to a woman who has none is like holding out a big old cake in front of someone on a low-carb diet.
a canoe for feminine wash.
cannot be softened up like a stick of butter on a summer afternoon by the man’s house. But bougainvillea! My favorite flower!
Smiling so smugly that he practically withers the grass with all that smugness.
I’m Team Oxford comma all the way.
My feet are planted firmly on the refinished hardwoods like I’m about to sprout roots.
It’s like a beating heart, alive and warm.
shovel everything in as fast as possible before it disappears like some kind of food mirage.
a man who smells tastier than bacon
grass-green eyes
I’m used to being on display, being looked over and judged like a calf at a livestock show,
the man is hot, but hot as sin,
Thayden brushes his mother’s cheek with a kiss, and before I can stop him, he does the same to me. It’s barely a whisper of his lips on my skin. It shouldn’t have the effect of caffeine mainlined into my bloodstream. But, oh boy, it does.
the man has eyes like a field I’d like to lie down in and a smile that could charm the stripes off a zebra.
Her hair is the color of a jar of honey with the sun shining behind it, and blue eyes like the sky on the best kind of lazy summer day.
His opinion is like a tick, and I need to dig it out.
Delilah: Got it. Will do our best to avoid men. You’d better.
It feels like God put a glass dome down on top of the city, trapping the wet heat.
a massage that feels like being manhandled by a prison guard.
The man has turned my steely resolve into a cooked spaghetti noodle.
The charm of this man could make a basket of venomous snakes fall in love.
I shove his chest lightly, the urge to touch him greater than my self-control to resist. My hand doesn’t want to come back—the wanton hussy—and
my legs shaky and unsteady as a baby deer.
He draws me along, the movements like a trail of breadcrumbs meant for me to follow. And, hoo boy! I am hot on that trail.
Thayden and I are like two people drag racing on a two-lane road, whipping around corners too fast, ignoring oncoming traffic and steep drop-offs on either side. We’re vying for position, jockeying to get ahead. It’s nerve-racking and exhilarating and the stakes seem way too high.
I am somewhere between wanting to slap him and ordering monogrammed onesies for our unborn children.
Delilah’s quiet stillness feels like the proverbial calm before what I suspect will be a fierce Southern storm with gale force winds.
Though I was—and am—angry with my mom, a tiny and selfish sliver of my heart wants Delilah to be trapped in this contract with me. For the first time I can ever remember, I can’t get enough of a woman. This woman.
My tiny cup of soup looks like a meal for Lilliputians.
I refuse to cry. But I feel like I’m walking a tightrope stretched out over a canyon.
There’s no ground beneath me, and balance isn’t my strong suit.
close proximity with a man who seems to be my Kryptonite.
No, tears. No. You do NOT get to come out. They aren’t listening to me, which isn’t surprising.
His smile and that rich baritone have me needing to reprimand my body, which has lit up like a human torch. My lips are going rogue, all Pavlovian, tingling in response to the sight of him.
anti-attraction pill or maybe a vaccine.
The words tumble out and hang in the room like a stiff fog.
my feelings, which are as muddy as a creek bed after a spring rain.
The bottom half looks like a colonial hoop skirt tried to have a baby with a mermaid style.
It’s like she had a cheat sheet with all my pain points and knew just where to press.
her accent makes her sound like Arnold Schwarzenegger’s grandmother.
now I’m feeling like a bag of Doritos.
wife for hire.
It’s like my heart is on fire, a raging inferno, and I’m cooking from the inside out.
One of these days he’s going to come home to find me passed out on his couch in a food coma and pregnant with a food baby.
Smiling at me with the threat of an apex predator,
jealousy is like Hydra. Cut off one head and another one grows right in its place.
