The Right One

No longer present despite the
press of pliable flesh.
A multiverse of outcomes
expands before my mind.
Primed for impact,
a cotton-cloth barrier is all
that stands between
pulsing passion and penetration.

With legs entwined in
tangled sheets of coastal blue,
she is a mermaid underwater;
the ebb and flow, her desire.
Her hair is an auburn fan resting
upon the pillowcase.
Lying bare to the world, she smiles;
apprehension applied as eyeliner.

“What are you thinking?”
she asks as I back away;
retreating into the safety of myself.
I match her smile, and
refrain from the true answer:
“You’re not the right one.”

by Erik Shinker

Virgin is Such a Dirty Word

I once had a friend who was a firm believer in astrology, so she was proud to inform me that I am a Virgo since I was born on the 22nd of September (which is also the fictional birthday of Frodo and Bilbo Baggins, so shout out to them); the symbol for Virgo is the maiden, or virgin, and I don’t think that she realized how accurate that is. Yes, I am a 26-year-old virgin (now the Hobbit reference makes sense, right?); I’m sure questions are running through your mind about how this could come about, and I hope to give some insight into the choices I have made throughout my life, some of which may surprise you. Don’t worry, the featured image is simply an allusion to the most famous of virgins; there won’t be any preaching in this post.
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