Bedding a Buddha

By
Aditya Dave

Dear Prudence,
Wont you come out to play?
Dear Prudence,
Greet the brand new day.
The sun is out,
The sky is blue,
Its beautiful
And so are you.
Dear Prudence by The Beatles
(The band you hate the most, but no hatred on your birthday
girl!)

Mighty Prudence, come inside to play: the sun holds no delights

today. Silly Prudence, a buddhu Buddha, exchanged wildcat ways
for inner peace, crazy days for a loving leash. Shes a hippie queen,
then, dressed in yellow maybe pink and flowers in her hair
round the frills. And carbon black frames round her eyes. Aks with
that axe (or was that Eugene?): shed be scary if she wasnt
Prudence.
And Im not the worlds most physical guy, but she broke my
bones when she shook my hand. And she forgives me for my pop
music references, for my stupid preferences, and I try to make up
for it with prose. And I hope and I pray I am funny.
She told me ye know, the other day, she told me she found peace;
and after analysis and fights and texts late at night I thought,
mayps she hed. Theres a gentleness about her, she aint scary ye
know? Okay the weirdass accent aintisnt working, Ill drop it.
Alright say something entertaining. Dont digress.
I am the passenger

I see the stars come out of the sky

Yeah, theyre bright in a hollow sky
You know you look so good tonight.
No drop Iggy Pop references which make no sense.
La la la la la-la-la la.
You call that taught prose, you dumbass? Who taught you prose,
dumbass?
Thats just trying to show off. This should be about her, not you.
You fool, you fool, keep it entertaining. You started out all strong,
whatever happened to that?
The quality of this piece keeps going down, forgive me
mademoiselle.
Youre French now la-la-la-la freak? Okay I think I told you Id
write a scene with you and Nirma? I can try.
The click of the tongue to the clit, and the teeth will nibble and
the pressing, probing hands cutting lines of love across the skin
no can do I feel like a creep staring into some intimate scene.

Oh Its such a perfect daaayyyyy.

Adityas Journal, 24th Sept, 11:42 p.m.
Have tried everything. Have been trying for the past two days to
no avail: bloodshot eyes and sleepless nights. What can I say that
makes sense? Nothing makes sense. Everything makes sense to a
psychology student. Consider this a work of postmodernist
literature, an insight into my mind, all that I dont say is all that I
want to say. Or something like that. Or that I am reaalllly running
out of time and trying to make this sound deep, ya know? (When I
try to be cool random accents slip in)
Hope you enjoyed reading it! Happy birthday!
P.S. I dont know why I called it that. I guess a sucker for
alliteration I am. :D