Not many men can make this big girl dance, but you did it. Not many men can direct a sound to sweep away the BOOMBOOM chant that followed me through the playground, resonating in my mind for years and years.
All this heavy stuff. Moving. Big thighs driving big heels into the ground, just so the room sends ripples back at them. Oh I hear you quiver - spread it around.
Clear the living room and open the window because this full-sized drama is hitting three acts and an encore. Spine becomes a tall grass in a shifting breeze and the flesh follows, lumps and bumps wrapping around that fragile stalk like pillows. They don’t cut the air - they round it out, make it all curve.
You give me 10 minutes and 31 seconds and I give you my hair down, my feet in love with this sunbeam that is diving like a kamikaze through the gap between the curtains.
You give me mad brass and mosquito rhythms and I give you my unspoken pleasure that my precious bulk does not stop on a dime, but keeps going like an unexpected shudder that consumes the whole body.
You make me believe that there are 10,000 people in your band, and I will unfurl into the cool breeze that stirs the incense and makes everything sweet and heady.
Not many men can make me stretch like a Sunday afternoon on the cusp of a full-blown summer, but you did it.
Now play it again.
Twilight Scrawls by Kirstin Maguire
3 hours ago