1. In the first place—I wanted him and said so when I had only meant to say. His eyes opened beyond open as if such force would unlock me to the other side where daylight gave reason for him to redress. When he put on his shirt, after I asked him to keep it off, to keep putting off the night's usual end, his face changed beneath the shirt: surprise to grin, to how even the body of another's desire can be a cloak behind which to change one's power, to find it. 2. In the first place he slept, he opened the tight heat of me that had been the only haven he thought to give a name: Is-it-mine? Why-you-running? Don't-run-from-it—as though through questions doubt would find its way away from me, as though telling me what to do told me who I was. Copyright © 2018 Phillip B. Williams. Used with permission of the author. |
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