This might be a long shot but I can’t shake that burning feeling that something was there.
You were pouring gasoline on “that bastards” clothes. Your words, not mine. Said he had “done you wrong for the LAST time.” I was moved by your singleness of purpose, sheer determination and also the gas fumes.
You did all of this while smoking. I like me a girl that lives on the edge. You carried more hastily filled garbage bags of clothes out to the curb. This is where I met you as I was parked just a tad to close for my taste to a women dousing things with petrol products.
You asked me if I had a lighter. The way you spoke without removing the cigarette captivated me. I wanted to ask you if you realized what a boner you were giving me right now but you were too impatient to wait for any kind of response.
“WHO THE FUCK HAS A LIGHTER?” You asked the small crowd gathering nearby. “Try the lit cigarette in your mouth.” Came a quiet, deadpan reply from someone undetermined.
You threw the marlboro atop the gas drenched bags and clothes, and it promptly went out.
“SON. OF. A. BITCH.” You disappeared back into your residence. Faint noises of items crashing, curse words and then a “AHA!”. Your breasts bounced and swayed as you marched back towards your volatile homemade curb side appeal. Clearly you meant business.
Now, I will say that I knew that the can of WD-40 you held was a lubricant. In fact the WD stands for water displacing. I am also familiar with the 40th formula’s potential as a flamethrower when sprayed and then ignited. What I was not prepared for was the instantaneous combustion of all the gas soaked material at your feet. Neither were you apparently, hence the 2nd degree burns and the ambulance.
Still, I’m pretty sure you are the one. I have watched my share of some sick ass porn but never, ever, have I seen breasts on fire quite like yours were. I would have fondled them while helping put out the flames but I had to back up the Honda to protect it from the inferno. I’m sure you understand.
But, I can’t look at my rusty barbecue grill out back anymore without thinking about you. Every time I hear an insect zapped by a bug light, my thoughts of you are re-ignited. My heart is ablaze for you. And, I found a jacket by the curb that wasn’t singed and guess what? Not only does it fit (!) A lighter was in the pocket. I think God’s trying to tell me something.
“Gonna tell a story morning glory all about the serpentine fire”
N.
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