Before the beautiful assistant climbs into the box, I leave, afraid he will forget the rest.
Mourning I went out into the mud and rain to watch stalled horses, nervous and full of heat, neigh and kick at thunder until the storm passed, and the ghost was given.
Sometimes I pretend there was moonlight, ample. That your body was lit bright. That my eyes closed with no other choice. On other nights, I remember that it was dark. That there were no streetlights. That the stars, smothered by the clouds, could not see us, and all we had was touch.
Skin lurid and out of sequence, seldom do these intervals lift the dawn close enough that I don’t need to squint, but this morning I am wide-eyed and there is a quality of light, gypsy and unfolding. I wait for it to find your body, mute.
Tonight, I crave chocolate cake. when yesterday I had forgotten there was sugar and cocoa and bakers who know what to do.
The moon, in distress, followed close, and the moths tried to pass for their cousins but failed. I wanted to tell you, “Look up,” but the light was too much. You could not see that the constellations had moved, that the lion had wandered off, that the virgin had taken a lover, that the entire …
It was one of those first nights in the dark of the kitchen when we sat nearly naked on the tile drinking the last bottle of cheap champagne. The dogs uncertain what to make of us licked our faces and curled themselves at our feet. I knew then.
My lover has watched her all day, fallen a touch in love with her blonde hair, the way she won’t look him in the eye, her stories of departure. What cannot be carried is left behind. He imagines not slippers beside her bed, but a valise and shoes made for sprinting. He calls her a …