Lick Me, I mean Like Me

For crying out loud, why is there such a forceful magnetic pull towards wanting to be liked rather than being known? When I’m sifting through relational problems, I often err on wanting to be licked. I mean liked than disturbing or disrupting the current and relative equilibrium (of a group or person or authority) for the dangerous purpose in being known and engendering the highly charged act named (fondly so), Intimacy…she’s such a bitch, always demanding, I mean asking for what I hesitate to give. Consequently, I would quite prefer to be licked, excuse me, liked and seen in an idealized fashion rather then impregnated by the painful expression of two or more selves coming together in an “as is” posture. Again consequently, the metaphorical birth bears little concrete meaning for me to hope in. Thus I lust over “as should be” and sow my way by creating pretty, dainty, funny illusions–touching little and remaining untouched.


“Jessie Bites” by Sally Mann

I say, “Intimacy Bites” in a beautiful sorta way


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