Esperanto

fortune, that most impenetrable of deities, chooses her darlings quite capriciously. i don’t know if luck favored me this afternoon when i found myself in the not-so-well-kept bed of someone who i thought, for lack of a polite word, was not proper for my delectation. he had this suite of tattoos in his torso that suggests he must have served time. i, even now that i have completely shaken off my evangelical christian upbringing, remain the same tight-laced boy who is easily thrown into fits of guilt trips. and yet, for a brief moment there in his room, we discerned each other’s true selves, no matter how hokey that may sound.  it's as if we grew up speaking the same one language, unchanging, uncapricious . sex must be the one true esperanto.