Kissing Paperboys...

So as the saga of life unfolds, so many experiences, so many hours change perceptions and revive emotions left for dead. Streetcars named desire, bright red and glossy pass by on wet nights.
They stop under orange streetlights in the misty rain and you seek their warm comfort. Motels and room and leaky roofs are all there. Cheap perfume and fake leather, paper flowers and glassy jewelry are all there.
Smoky bars and sultry eyes, heady whisky and cubes of ice...hard bodies, hands on a quest...where is the heart is all of this?

She looked for love, from one leaky roof to another. I've been looking and looking and looking. It's safe to say that I've slightly more than a tenuous grasp on sanity but recent events make me wonder whether I've already kissed my paperboy - or if its yet to come.

Last Thursday Z came over. I'd been drinking, St Remy no less...to calm the nerves if you will. He arrived. We talked...I massaged and enjoyed this pathetic amount of closeness that I could have with someone to whom I was sincerely attracted.
I read his tarot, we left...he did not come to Parking with me that night as he was supposed to. Perhaps my overt advances made him just a tad bit uncomfortable - whatever. The night is blurr and prehaps for good reason.

I remember a boy. I remember a proposition. And I remember a 'no.'

Kissing paperboys...how many more?