Red Pulp Underground is an online nonprofit literary magazine.

Sarah Rose

Academics

i had a million witty things to say to you, you in
your suit, from the press balcony where they
perched me, and your slicked hair and quick
eyes would flirt over my face and then my
breasts and then dance away as if we'd
already been introduced, your gaze as familiar
as gropes and i wanted your breath and your
concepts in my mouth, i wanted to put your
genius in unwise places, i was drawn to your
brain as most women are drawn to hardened
flesh, i wanted to consume you as a book, a
blistering blush on my cheek, the novel idea of
shoving all of your literary and philosophical
genius deep inside of me until my hymen
broke, and i was embarassed to be thinking all
of these things, but they were rising up out of
me as you sat across from me at lunches and
held open all of these doors to small
manhattan cafes and i was smitten with your
words, the way you would debate everything
you could and i imagined that if i let you linger
any longer one of us would catch on fire from
the heat in my bones when you said "call me
at my office" with a smile and both hands
wrapped around mine, before i turned to walk
away, back to boston and you took a plane to
chicago, back to your wife and your children.

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