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Her fingers settle gentle on my inner
thigh, move slowly higher. Yeah. So?
I’m not asking for commitment, and
I don’t want to mess up your life. I just
want to give you a little piece of me.
She boosts up on tiptoes, looks
into my eyes as she kisses me.
I am pulled into the liquid emerald
of her eyes, the invitation—no, demand—
of her pillowed pout, her experienced
hands. And I’m helpless. Weak. Convinced.
She pulls me
down a narrow alleyway,
backs me against a splintered garage door.
I pretend protest, but we both know
claiming I don’t want this would be a lie.
Shush, she pleads. Don’t say a word.
Just let me take care of you. She kisses
me again, encourages my hands
along the hilly contours of her body.
And in one long, sinuous movement,
she is on her knees. In total control.
I CLOSE MY EYES
But what materializes
out of the darkness there
are shadowbox photos of Nikki.
Those, and the snap of December
against uncovered skin
might be enough to make
me stop, but when Leah senses
