In a woman I knew not mid-thrust. Through the dust of misplaced trust, Natale’s door slam rattles the bedroom like thunder before an earthquake, screaming like a cat with a clawed-out tongue. I dart my eyes to the wall, but the death in her stare bounces them back to her as if at her front door, causing even my breath to cease with high hopes, of which she leveled out, using her hips to bring me closer. Natale’s lumbered steps closed the distance, cocking her arm, hand balled into a fist, and clocked me. A crushing silence took center stage; she stripped nude and joined us in bed, asking if there was room for the love of another.

(© 2021 AC)

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