Ash, last of his name

I have no other socials that I will be revealing here.

I am married, and it’s a struggle. Dead bedroom. Poor communication. The mutual assumption of the other’s malice. You know the drill.

She knows nothing about this.

It’s my little secret.

This is my place to be openly me, but anonymously, and have a little fun escaping from the sublime banality of being a person.

If that sounds somehow compelling, I can assure you that you will inevitably tire of me.

Not really sure if I’m a good person.

Sometimes I’m a poet.

Hunger led my eyes to the plump, ripe nectarine in the bowl

And when touched it was firm but soft when squeezed lightly

The skin snapped under my teeth, as its juice escaped down my throat

I slurped and chewed and shredded its flesh, noisily and with aplomb

My lips glistening with sweetness, I continued to devour

Until all that remained was its damp, woody, inedible pit