We would sit and wait and watch these amateur exhibitionists, laptop warming our touching thighs, and disconnect.
Later in the night in a local haunt called the sandpit, a dirt hole in the distant woods, we would play.
The sand left in our clothes left as remembrances.
We never spoke about how we liked these evenings. At the pit.
I savor our erotic days.
PHILTH is for art that is this erotic