I hear their voices before I remember who or where I am. “Why today and why so many?”
I notice it most when we make love. You are there, fleshy and slippy and breathy and yet you are absent.
The air in his alphabet room was cool, felt even more so because she knew the day would pant into afternoon and sweat into evening, dampening the night so she dreamt of rain or leaky taps and
The snow fell. Soft and white it blanketed the garden. We stepped out with virgin prints, her crutches left damp black holes. Bangs and sizzles, filtered through flakes as large as doilies.