the forest smells sweet tonight like a mixture of wet flowers and leaves and earth and on the back of a Harley zipping through pockets of cold and then warm wind i smell his jacket and the combination of nature and leather fills my nostrils and i close my eyes and hold on tight my hands dipped inside each of his front pockets and stare at my reflection in back of his helmet and watch pink clouds and darkening hazel skies pass by and the speed gets me off this moment gives me wings. friday night ninjas popped out and balls were tied tight with twine at different points in the evening whipping and warm green tea and laughter the same pair of heels throughout and by the end of the evening my feet hurt. but not too badly. when i was a kid we never bought paper towels and shared the same dish cloth amongst the six of us at the dinner table and used toilet paper to grease the muffin pan and i now use napkins like they’re going out of style i hate when my hands are wet and abuse my privileges and free will and buy rolls of paper towels every other day and he eats the ash from my cigarette as Mona spanks with swift graceful hands and her technique is spot on and the thud repeats over and over again and i wonder what the sensation feels like more on her palms then on his ass and take in the view along with a drag and tip his chin upward forcing his mouth open dropping more ash inside and he swallows and bends his head down like a giraffe to lick the remnants off the red leather bench and she pauses as he does this and laughs and begins the repitition again this time smacking not on him but through him and before or after this Maria compares oysters to french kissing and as i gulp one down after the bike ride through the forest i remember this and taste tongue, cool and slimy and it’s a sexy delicious feeling down my throat and confessor is a great word and i make a mental note to use it more often.