Our past and future’s written in the skin that forms atop the mtn dilk. The milk firms up the soda foam like sofa stuffing and licks its greases in concentric tidal swills toward the glass’s lip. Try it, I urge you, offering a swig of livewire spider cloudy orangeness curdling in the stein. Did I mention that the mtn dilk has vodka in it? (Women only want one thing and it’s fucking cirrhosis.) Could do with a slosh of cointreau though if you’re fancy. My life’s a sloppy cocktail menu on fire. My friends are always welcome in my house if you’re okay pushing mounds of clothes off the couch to sit down. I nest comfortably upon my throne of thrifted satins and merino-possum. You compliment my many interesting stones, my desperate artworks, my carnivorous pot plants, which you keep saying look like dicks and you know what: I see it. Bulbous heads on burgeoning pitchers turgid and veiny, their unripe lids jutting like… glanses… and hinged with little… frenulums? But I insist the matured jugs, flaring their toothy lips, also evoke an alluring vagina dentata. It’s altogether awfully bisexual. And these are just the organs formed for feeding with. When the plants actually attempt to flower I cut off their inflorescent stems. Propagate them by cloning, a sexless eden rooting in dank sphagnum, these naïve green promises blessedly the only cuttings to worry about in this house for some time now, the slip of sharps only a care-full act. I like when new lovers assume my puckered scars are sumptuous stretch marks like I like to hope any old dismemberment can eventually be seen as growth. A coiling thing that drinks in sunlight, that turns up its reddening cock at the world and can willingly accept all the horrid crawling things inside itself only to become more hardcore and magnificent. But anyways I see I’ve been neglecting my mtn dilk. You have to drink it quick. I knock back the neon cream and in its silken dregs I read our fortune: the sun will go on rising orangely on the daily, and we may forgive each other our failures but never our victories. I’m sorry. But I feel this manifesting. New powers simmer in my guts already.
Featured photo courtesy of Reddit user ArrowYoghurt.
Cocktail jugs photo courtesy of author.
