SWEET SWEETS WORLD
i remember
we were parked with the doors closed
and the windows only a little cracked
the engine running, defroster on so we could see
in the middle of a massive sugar storm
pouring pouring pouring all over the Sweet Sweets World
while we watched the wide and beautiful River of Iced Tea flowing
and the ice cubes in it bobbing and melting
on their long individual ways to New Orleans and the Everlasting Sea—
except we weren’t watching the river so much— yes, the sugar poured and
that stopped us where we were, but
my left hand was in your underwear, Sweet World
working the wet between your wide open thighs with three fingers
massaging your clit with my thumb
while your right hand
was wrapped around my cock
your thumb working the bulging head of it
going up and down and faster n faster
our foreheads together, our breathing coming harder n harder n
we didn’t really know yet what we were doing
and it was humid and steamy and sticky and slick n
so very, very
Sweet Sweet
&
Stepping first tentative feet on
The All New Moony-Tidal Forces In Our Genitalia—
as we did, once upon a tide, around the age of the drivers license...
at / sweet / 16 / when the sugar flowed o’er us like the Genesis flood
©2024 David Earl Williams All rights reserved.
“David Earl Williams” has been his alias since birth and he’s not changing it. To be sure, you’d have to ask his mother and grandmothers to know the truth. But you can’t ask them— they’re sleeping now with the Hopewell and the Adena who want their land back from the Cherokee and the Shawnee once they’ve head-tripped it back from the, mostly, but not exclusively, European rejects who are sitting on it now. All that can be said about the alias for sure is that it’s a little like Mike Fink, King of the River Pirates— it’s fluid— half water snake, half beaver, half bear, half alligator, half Blevins, half Fyffe, maybe, half Williams, maybe a little bit McCoy, (yes, those McCoys… and Bad John Phillips), if you can believe the 2nd cousins thrice removed— and probably, you can’t… ) Anyway, his I. D. is just like everybody else’s— it’s being made up daily, cut like a suit to fit the dummy wearing it— or at least it is until somebody cries, bullshit— that doesn’t belong to you— you narcissist!— and makes it stick.— But until then, “David Earl Williams”, he’s just like you, Dear Reader— one of a kind, and a representative of millions, the vessel of all their grievances and glories, la di da, like he came this way, quality stamped and assured, straight from a furious little factory somewhere down around his mother’s pelvis, billowing a camouflaging chimera of self-protective smoke into the always immanent abyss.
