The Superior Lick

Your eyes were fixed upon the tape measure, and this for good reason. I traced them in silent observance before you sought occasion to speak with me. One might even accuse you of a well timed interruption. Business hours have long expired, so you must forgive the natural reflex of unscheduled leeriness. An unwitting intrusion of supper time is the perfect cover for scandal, but I am no accuser. Put your hands in mine and I will dissolve any lingering timidity stored inside your heart. My tongue is triple the length of what curls behind your teeth. If you are willing to step over the tripwire class anxiousness, I will teach you how to elongated it. By the splash of sour fruit comes baptism. I forbade the sweet. Neither did I chew fat. I suckled bitter root. Only when the faculty of taste became hateful too me could I preen my fingers without lifting them to my face. Have you noticed that all the men of peace are dead? Ask their mothers. Interrogate their wives. It happens so innocently. A father leaves his household to wrangle the promises of utopia. When he does not return, his brother pursues hard after him. No sooner is he gone does the nephew and son partner to leap out into the same mist until there are no men left. Peace has made suckers of them. Their beauty is scratched and their strength is whittled. Clutch the shavings thereof to estimate former glory. Generations have wasted themselves in search of a crop that flourishes best in the last place. Wild sugar cane grows so tall it obscures columns of headstones. The hopeful wish to gather it by the bushel, but are gathered by it in the end. Imagine the things will you be able to speak with a tongue that is prehensile. Drag it across a plate of cloves to your revulsion. Then swirl it in a jar of vinegar. In a month's time you will be able to retrieve a dangling necklace into your mouth with crossed arms. In a year's time you will lap river water without bending a knee.