|October 2008 / Volume 8 / Issue Three|
We keep our toenail clippings
all heaped together in an old film
container on the window sill.
It¢s one of those romantic things
you do when you move in together,
when you decide to share everything.
We fuck with the windows open
and the lights on, tearing hands at
each other until our faces are ugly
and sweating and tired.
He says he wants us to have the
next one. The house is quiet when
he leaves to work. I listen to the
noises inside me. The dishes break
themselves. The sun leans down
to burn me through the windows.
In two days I’ll be alone again.
|RETURN to OCTOBER 2008|