The Couch

The couch cools my thighs for the first time in four months given that fucking Summer has left the building, and no I don’t mean my ex, who liked to “stuff the taco” on this anti-vegan, 8 foot, cowhide-covered, living-room filler — it’s true my heart raced to her little moans and quick inhalations which complimented the squeaks her tanned ass made when it rubbed against the ten-year old leather, but that’s old news — dried up tears and cracked heart — two years later she’s only a slightly faded image stored somewhere in my left eye — but what makes my heart race today — yes, a bit sad — is the elation I feel from the Georgia Bulldog’s comeback win in the fourth quarter of last night’s game — having been ten points down to Mizzou in the third quarter — and deep down I do agonize over the fact that I’m conflating hot sex and football — the anticipation — the foreplay — and finally — the climax. But four quarters are about all I’m getting’ these days.

Gary D. Grossman
Medusa’s Kitchen 1–25–23