Spontaneous Combustibles

Spontaneous Combustibles

A Story by Rogerss

Art exhibit romance

" What are you writing?" she said.
He looked up, tapped his pencil on his cheek, made little pops.
" I've noticed," he said, " that you artist have a hard time naming your paintings. Too many untitled. Bugs me. I'm a writer. I'm naming them."
" They're abstracts," she said, "you writers want to name everything, put it in a box. Art is to lead you to your own destination, unlock your personal imagination."
" That they do, " he said. " That one there ( he pointed to one she painted, not her best) is you, I think waiting for Poo Bear to appear in your magical forest glade for an erotic experience involving honey."
" No, " she said, " it's Bride of Frankenstein doing it with You Know Who."
He stood, looked into her eyes.
" Wow," he said, " what I can see in those beautiful eyes."
She said, " Does it involve honey?"

© 2020 Rogerss

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Added on August 1, 2020
Last Updated on August 1, 2020
Tags: fiction



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Chapter eighteen Chapter eighteen

A Chapter by Rogerss