From this angle, she doesn’t look human--a pool of sleep and sex. I feel deceitful watching her. 

I see her now, pregnant, after all these years, standing at the margin of the train.

We’re alone again, together, my twisted fingers where they shouldn’t be.

No one tasted quite like Anna. 

You’re the only woman I loved who lives on in soundless memory.

It bothers her, as it should, that he can’t be trusted when the lights are on.

-- You think I don’t know what I’m feeling?

All my fantasies start with you.

Even when we press against one another, there will be gaps:

I love him but he’s one of those men who can’t sleep at night until he’s exhausted himself with pornography. It wears on me; I wasn’t born that woman. I can’t fuck with my shoes on. 

He stands next to the sill and views the pavement eight storeys below. He’s been here before, on the edge of consideration, though never when feeling quite this fulfilled.

I’m on fire. Literally. 

We shouldn’t have driven out onto the ice. Either it was too thin or our car was too heavy. We were sinking fast. 

“My sister?”

“Mmm.”

I kiss her and wait for her reply. Passion rules and she lifts her head, fast.

They met in line at the grocery store, each eyeing what the other placed on the conveyor belt. 

At any cost, be honest with him. In every word, action, and thought, be true.

It’s over. She knows this. But the flesh has memory, too, and with memory comes regret.

It’s over. He knows that. But the flesh has memory, too, and with memory comes longing. 

We were at her cottage. She was all water water water and I was all cold cold cold.

You’re destroying me. You’re good for me.