Congratulations Marcia Miller for making the pledge that got me down to 99 pledges required - you now have a character named after you in "Ex". All I am going to say is, I hope you don't like ant eaters. Marcia has become pledge obsessed and lets me know whenever we gain another percentage point. Quite simply, her support has kept me going whenever I have flagged. She is currently in Cape Cod with her husband Michael and their dog and we wish we were with them having breakfasts of cream cheese and smoked salmon bagels, sitting in a dug out on the beach, wrapped in blankets reading or complaining that the solar storm was a wash out. 

Now, although this won poem of the week on ABCtales quite recently and has had more than 865 reads I have debated whether to post this to my wonderful Unbound supporters because it is a little bit on the graphic side but I am posting it because I am very proud of it. This is a work of fiction - it is NOT about me. The man in the poem looks like a young George Clooney, as he was in ER so please have that as your mental image before you read this and for those of you who do not like adult writing do not read on. 

Her 64th boyfriend

I was her 64th boyfriend 
they came and went 
like heads of corn in a thresher 
terrifying in their insignificance 
so now she was keeping count 

She lived on 45 West 139th Street
In Harlem  
and slept with a loaded Webley 
Mark IV revolver 
under her pillow
she shared her home 
with a blind cat
called Fury Goddess of Vengeance  
which suffered from a highly contagious skin disorder 
and an albino rabbit 
with blue plastic wheels 
instead of hind legs

At 5.23am 
on our first morning together 
we listened to 
Chet Baker At the Forum
and lay in bed
chain smoking Winston Blue's
and eating re heated churros 
dipped in mucha-mucha spread 

Later we knelt on her bed 
staring through the frost monkeys
on the inside of her 
bedroom window
at the gang boys 
on the broad walk below 
strutting and preening like fireflies 

When we fucked 
it was frenzied 
our half filled cups of 
jagged Ethiopian coffee
jousting on her bedside table 
and afterwards she held my face between fingers 
which were twice her age 
and I watched the
megallanic clouds 
circle her eyes 
in a parabola 
of interstellar dust