A woman near naked. Me in jeans. I wake up ravenously hungry. It takes two of everything to satisfy me. Like days ago, two.
A look. It's always simple. It's wanting one thing at a time. Simple. Not always having to do with them. We spoke, it's simple.
A lick of the hand. Tattoos, artfully situated. One crescent along the underside of her right breast. Another one vertically lining the left side of her back, an arrow, a feather, a sword, I don't quite know. I preferred to keep its graceful lines a mystery. An arching of her muscled spine. An elevation of her middle. Holding onto each other now for dear life, because it is dear, life. Pressing together hard and gentle. There's nothing like wanting it. The three of us, her, me, the candlelight she lit.
The crazies sat in plastic chairs outside the halfway house across the street.
