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Mother and son listened to the muffled
voices from the room next door. The babel
of vice in a love hotel. The ribald
grunt of bed-springs breaking. The carnal
sob that comes from a job well done. He played
with her hard nipple, toyed with her swollen
lips. She held his head until he obeyed,
her long curved fingers making a fountain
for him to drown in. Her mouth at his ear,
sliding down his naked skin, cupping him,
her mouth taking in his engorged boy-cock
down to its root. What is sex without fear?
Later, they sighed, sticky with their jism
and bliss. This is what we call “pillow talk.”
memories of my ghost sista 