Ah, Love
His zits were like rotten red roses adorning a putrefied carton of milk, repulsively endearing. He reaches for my long hair that’s as oily as the ocean. His fart like stench fills my bubbly red champagne lungs, his breaths panting like a dog. The sky is screaming and crying tears of anger down on the roof of our home like a battering ram.
“Well, the weather could be better.” He sighs like the dirt floor that shifts beneath us.
Crackle, pop, and crackle. Crick, crack, crick crack. My dear bacon bringer’s knees and back moan and groan like a door desperate for oil as he clomped along. I followed with steps a swan would be envious of, gliding across the floor like a Roomba. His swampy palms inclose over my pustule covered hand that match his face as he leads me to the table covered in fairy lights that remind me of the beady-eyed spiders that adorn my bedroom at night.
His eyes meet mine as I avoid making eye contact with the green and yellow well done creepy crawlies in the edges of his eyes and stare into his booger colored pupils, his stringy fried truffula tree textured hair grazing my clammy cottage cheese skin. The fungus colored slabs of hair on his forehead move up and down like an elevator as his left eye twitches like a squirrel after three cups of coffee.
His smile spreads across his face like eczema and a Cheshire worthy grimace spreads across mine.
“I love you more than bed bugs love Tea Tree oil.” He mewls softly, like the murmur of the humid wind that surrounds me.
“I love you more than elephants love mice,” I reply as loud as the clattering of the rickety old radiator in the corner of the sewer like room. He stands like a bent toy soldier and trudges as if through a swamp to the other side of the sweating room. With a clatter and a bang, he hauls a witchy cauldron into his twig arms and drops it onto the table with a loud crack that I’m sure even the crown heard. The cauldron as black as the withering soul in my body is filled with a slimy creature like a blobfish dyed green, it rolls and stews releasing toxins into the room like pollution. With the flourishing swoop of a crane, he ladles the roiling stew into two bowls like a scientist scooping the brains from cadavers and putting them away for later. With a loud snap, his elbow bends like a broken hinge, slowly and hesitant, towards me, the bowl resting in his Jack Skellington like hands. I flutter my spider-legged fake lashes and reach for the spoon, taking a heap as big as the trash islands in the ocean and take a bite, hungry as a vulture. The simmering stew tastes better than moldy fish oatmeal. The melody of smacks and slurps fills the cave of a room.
“Dear, Dear Drazella, I love thee more than women love flowers on Valentine's day” He sneers like a moldy fox.
“Oh my darling, darling Vlad, I love thee more than Victoria loved Victor,” I reply as softly as the shuffling of the extra-large roaches in the corner.
With a smile that turns the stomach, full of spiders and green residue, he leans in. With a smile as intoxicating as the wine beside us I lean in as well. The ghoulish tension in the room could be cut with a guillotine. Then our lizard-like lips meet and we share a kiss only two slimy and repulsive creatures like us could achieve. My eyes peel open like a couple of moldy bananas, and my dear Vlad is wearing my beautiful chunky vanilla protein shake skin, cause as they say “You never really understand a person until you climb into their skin and walk around in it.”