By Emma Bolden
It was less than sex, though she felt very much.
They were kissing. They were hands. They both
believed in eternity and a house
unlocked. She would not
settle for being bedded by night next to a victim. During the day
she stayed asleep as a god. There were pills and amens and
the kitchen was a jail. When his vows
became a conviction,
she decided that all ends should begin in a compromising condition,
like naked or alone. Justice annoyed her with its particulars: she saw
little light between the done
and the undone. He stood in the house,
in the room, in the doorframe. She had a lot of questions. She waited
for any wrong answer to bleed him free.