Beyond weak, she was now spelling it out for him, like a mother – holding the small fat hand of her first born, pushing the stubborn fingers around, as they clutched a pencil to shape the letters of his own name.
How many times had she said it now? Could she count how many times she had laughed it, asked it, stuttered and moaned it and even once – in the vacancy of quiet hours – called for it, loudly across an ocean of silence.
As they sat in the garden with sun on their shoulders, they saw two moths mating: Elephant Hawks, enormous, olive winged and brightly tipped – pink as a kiss, their bodies tail-pinned in a union older than them. Both gawped and tutted at the audacious clasp. This is a family neighbourhood, he said, smirking, and they left the Fornicators to it.
What she didn’t tell him though was that, later that same night as she went out to lock the gate she saw them again – still stuck together, one dead, the other not, but flying low, unable to breach the garden wall or free itself from bondage as, in frantic flutter, it dragged its cold mate through the blue light of summer night.
do you remember when we had to cancel our very first date because I had a last minute shift at the bar, but you came to see me anyway and asked me about the movies I love and drank gin and winked when I walked back and forth past you serving other people but how I’d always circle back
and another time you asked me to get free drinks for you and your mates, got hammered hogged the juke box broke the top button on your shirt and called someone a fucking rat lost a tooth threw a glass and got kicked out and I had to quit later that week standing up for you
I just remember that’s all and wondered if you might too