I stop at your navel. I drag my tongue back up your body, stopping in between your breasts and make my way to the navel again, planting a perfect row...of kisses. This time I continue, all the way to the edge of your panties. I stop, lifting my head just enough to look at them. The cloth is so thin, from here I can make out your gentle folds in the contours of the fabric. And the smell of your womanhood, I bite my lip, consumed by lust. I hook my thumbs inside and pull them down and off. She thinks, “ Rain. That’s cleansing. It’s also cold and wet. Better dress accordingly.” Some things never change. Across the square at the Rhyme and Reason Music Bar, a quiet loner rebel type base player is sitting backstage in a chair kicked back against the wall balancing w/ one leg, strumming empty notes. Yearning to write something new. Be more than just top billing on a marquee. All of the screaming purple mohawks, stage diving, and black lipstick on everybody is getting boring.. More

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