The main thing that youth has going for it is porpoise-tight skin. Raw, wide-eyed newness is meaningless. Nostalgia for knowing nothing is asinine; you can’t recapture it and you don’t want to relive it. Better to sing a song of experience with your burning tiger’s heart.

shellacs

grappa.

Two hours later, Marco was in my crimson-covered bed at the Hotel Campo de’ Fiori. “Mia cara, ti ho perso così,” he said, “odori come i fiori che crescono dalla figa di Venere. Come mi manchi leccarti, gustarti, il mio sogno Americano.” My darling, I missed you so. You smell like flowers growing from Venus’s pussy. How I miss licking you, tasting

What is importance, anyway, but the weight of experience.

But that narrative structure is only as true as time, which is to say it’s as much a construct as a house or a dress or a turducken.

unctuous

Cunt-struck,

wended