A Dollar in His Shoe

A Sexual Fantasy

— By Brittany Franklin

Lovers. Partners. Coupled. Throupled. Single. Alone.

The heart finds solace creeping in corners in between the crevices of hardcover binds, Soft cover spines.

The smiles, the stares, the money tucked in his shoe. He watches people, watches them Watching their spirits leap, enticed by every word.

Captivated by an idea, New, Old, Their minds unfold and he watches them. 

Never joining the dance that the guests around him seem to be parlaying  Never unfolding his arms Never picking up the books sitting in front of him. To him, it’s poison. Venom.

How they hang on to words, phrases, empty paragraphs, pictures of places they’ve never been. Pictures that lie, that sell false promises. That advertise false perceptions. Here he is in the thick of it. Untethered. A literary Scrooge. He reads people not books.

I wonder what he sees in me. Me with she. Watching him to distract myself from watching her. It worked for a moment but now I’m stuck. My luck. And it’s difficult to find the words on my tongue. Holding me like a spell, a hex. God I’m vexed. Perplexed 

What does he see in me when I look at her. I wonder. Does he see a fool? A sinner?

Am I eternally damned from this point on because if I am. Please strike me. Please eradicate any looming strife. Please curb the pain and fill the knife that will pierce my heart. Thou whilst spoil thy wife. Spare my life. So that I may love again

Love like this. Live like this. Like like this. Lust like this 

So that I may find myself back here watching the same man with a dollar in his shoe

Watching you.