#elbow pit

My Lover, My Leader, Menage By James Daniel Bowman III                  It’s quite an enormous, cuddly exoskeleton for her murderous and yearning fan-base. As you can see here, she’s lusting, yearning, all tied up in bondage, about to get nowhere by a bunch of ample roaches on a mattress.                “That her followers are all constructing a community in a compound that Menage has developed, is ominous, I think, because only the most extreme cults isolate themselves in this way, becoming more and more extreme.”                “I hear her,” says a follower of Menage, “in my sleep some nights. She cries with a loud voice, giving up the ghost. Nobody but me (in these dreams) knows that she’s Jesus. In this and other important ways, I’m alone. I wake up in pools of sweat, sometimes in tears.”                “Mystics,” says Menage, “are only touched by themselves and God. They have a position in the limitless list of selves; placed (as all are) amid others, yet one step ahead of the rest. They’re socially demure, but bold in soul, which is the reason I think they’re wonderful.”                I close my eyes and kiss her cubital fossa (or elbow pit) with as much passion as any lover would kiss their soul-mate.