TGIF

I'm fully aware I need to branch out and write about things besides violent sex and wet thighs. It's doubtful ... Rusted My thighs unhinge when you speak of Hemingway and Fitzgerald an oiled joint made moist in agreement "Except the Old Man..." the crusted red rust has fallen between my ankles as if something old and weathered can be made new again I step on the fragile fragments attempting to hide the things I know you don't want to see I brush the brown dust from the top sides of my knees where you just removed your hand only feeling smooth, clean flesh As if the past doesn't exist and all the things we regret have been set free by the silent creaking of my two legs I'm screaming "thank you!" in my mind for not betraying me this once

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My computer is still doing the weird spacing thing (see post below). And right now I can't unbold the first sentence in this post. Or erase it. Any suggestions?