Once a kingdom for roaches, we’ve cleaned this small apartment, sprayed citrus , lit candles, smelling of sandalwood it is unrecognizable from its original state. The bed is centered, tossed with Egyptian linens and brocade throw pillows, our only possessions. Your whiskey glass is always half empty, the color of your eyes when you are aroused. You sip it slowly at the edge of the bed. Facing away I shut my eyes and concentrate on the whir of the overhead fan. When you reach for me I shrug you off. I’ve been practicing the art of out of body and from above I look down on us until my eyes close in sleep. When I wake you offer me drags from your hand rolled cigarette, we lie silently watching the curl of our smoke rise and rip apart in the fan blades. You want to talk, to tell me this is not enough, your pleading eyes attack me at my most vulnerable. It is so easy to distract you, I pull the sheets away and we make love, whisper profanities to each other, laugh like children and pull away. Your eyes sparkle like stardust, a boy at the top of a Ferris wheel. I promise myself to never meet again but my heart is a red sports car racing along the razor edge of a cliff.
art by Fabian Perez