MOONEN, Mike
Don’t You Want Me, Baby?

“Honey, what smells better the shampoo or love?” She says. I have a rude answer ready once again. She pulls me over the couch. The lips in her head are hairy and strong, her teeth perfect. “My little stupid lover” she says softly. “You’re just dreaming.” She’s right. I am wondering about the fact that we live in worlds that float on answers. You can scare people with questions. Her questions never scare me. But a question is a fireplace that you can warm up to (inefficiently), even if you don’t get an answer. She thinks this idea doesn’t really exist yet. We continue. If she offers resistance, she pushes her hair back and closes her legs around her head. It is the missing link that she could not find in the cupboard. Bitch this is a hint. Task 1: put a hand in your mouth and blow.
The muscles of her chin meanwhile hurt, and so do the eyebrows. We mix and stir, only a connoisseur will recognize the ingredients (and looks forward to it). With shocks she came and I came at exactly the same time. She looked pale. My freshness kept it steady and tight. Trust me. Five minutes later it is over again and I apologize. Legitimate horny, from the cliche idea of a bottle of whiskey, nice sex, cigarettes and murder, traveling the world etcetera. Whereever I come, from small to large from old to young, male or female: they are all equally baggerdreppesch, I hate them. The “pebble path” in front of his house is not covered with pebbles anymore but with people’s teeth. Saint Marc Galt filled his glass for the third time. The guys who heard Marieza history first coming out of the mouth of someone who could know, contributed theirs, put money together and ordered another bottle of gin. Repetition creates knowledge as a heavenly ladder. They understood better now.
—https://mikemoonen.com/text

Published by Innen, 2021
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