pebble once cast

I wolf whistle, lowly.

Two fingers pushed between parted lips, touching tongue.

And, I wonder…

Why do people need writing prompts?

They preempt.

Suggestions not needed.

Explicit requests enjoyed, nonetheless.

°

“You think I was talking about you?” he asks.

“It doesn’t matter. I heard you, anyhowl,” I say.

°

This, something, but, not just anything.

Head hazy open because it is heavy.

°

An attractive, not unwelcome, nuisance.

Needing to be handled. Straightened out.

Make hard to render malleable.

Remade and dripping.

Thumb it your mouth, moth.

Carry your hardwood.

I can carry the water.

I still thumb the pebble you once cast to me.