charlie don't surf reality: part 7. jamie rocks

jamie rocks her sister from frontier to frontier, eye to eye, breast to breast, snickers in synch on the reverb, webcams flashing in strobe on the tivo, subliminal digital messages shadowing the horizontal interplay of reruns, reruns, reruns, all family dramas, affairs of the couch, rooted in upscale dreams of unlimited credit and spotlights of flesh.

jamie rocks undressed but never naked, her voice pitched a half-octave above, her eyes misty in the bon jovi fog that sprays the surf and moistens the pitch, that spirits the will and glistens the delivery, that buries the living and unwakens the dead, as her sister slips through the mizzle of unfocused affection in search of a wave ...