panting tongues and hearts that slam like a screen door in a storm laying quietly so still and the sound of rain pouring against a tin roof. ratatat ratatat. under a worrisome stare you say "should we have locked the cellar door?" unwrapping the red dress like a birthday gift and the pressure of your torso is a mountain on mine. where have you been if not here i wonder who is your mother and do you like your coffee black. i must be thirsty or it must be winter because the back of my throat is dry. a souvenir on your keychain shaking when you stir and it's time to go somewhere else home to her and aprons with paisley print and banana nut muffins in the basket on the counter. idling in the driveway your whirring engine humming vibrating our sins into your sternum. she is buttoned to you but i, i am a wild pitch and it's not til july that i think of you again.
angry knocking tearing clawing fingers ruining my door. a feral scream. wild wild wild eyes peeping through the curtained window wide with rage with pain with thirst. i will her away but she never goes and i wonder if she is a ghost or a demon or termites in my basement and attic eating the floors and walls and everything holding me up, holding me together. a brick through the window ought to do it she thinks and suddenly boom pow smash glass. she asks if your thin lips and sad eyes were worth it, worth the sharpness under my feet and police on my lawn. i doubt myself but i say i know they were because her fury states your value. and so when you call and say please i say yes and we do.
