Teases
Sam is lying languid on yellow sheets. James will be home tomorrow which leaves little time for new lovers.
Sam reaches up and receives the glass and sips, as I drink from the bottle and look at scars on a wrist, tattoo marked and bled, bracelet often mislaid.
Bob Marley doesn’t give a shit, while Sam Cooke looks dispirited at what yet will come. Joplin cries wild abandon from vinyl well-worn and well earned.
And James will return and for now Sam is here and I am here and the bottle is half full and Sam teases with a fingertip…
From Guest Contributor Michael Tyler
Michael writes from a shack overlooking the ocean just south of the edge of the world. He has been published in several literary magazines and plans a short story collection sometime before the Andromeda Galaxy collides with ours and…
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