Her Bikini Sagged

Then I blew up my marriage.

And met my new woman in Deerfield Beach.

“You can come anywhere,” she slurred. “But not in my hair.”

Her wet nipples ground into my shirt.

I had a boner.

“Lucy is autistic,” she said. “Persephone's precocious.”

A guy was walking through the parking lot, dragging a 2x4 cross.

Later, I Googled: “men with crosses”.

I drank vodka nips; remembered her tits.

I masturbated with conditioner. Watched Zoolander.

“I saw Rose Kennedy on the ferry,” she slurred, a year after.

We fucked. She went to pee.

I thought: This is not it, either.