All it takes is awareness; he is fixed in the motion of peel. Depending on how she holds her flesh, his blade may or may not run smooth. A knot needs only one opening to impair his rhythm. Mars the ease with which he sinks into reverie, sliver of eye open to the glow of embedded pigment.
The glisten. A catch of air or skin, inhalation. When the sky opens just a pulse, a singular stroke will let him into her. Imagine the interruption this causes, hand on blade.
Sleep knows two things: dreams or oblivion. This is his way of allowing her to see, far better than slumber. Quaking. Intensities of harsh breath. The sound is his alone, while she persists in sustained hush. Only silent. It is soft.
Edith & Aurelia: A Romantic Tragedy in Five Acts (2011, Dancing Girl Press), and editor and publisher of Red Nettle Press. Her work has been included in a variety of literary journals and collaborations, and she is currently immersed in a series of artists' books inspired by recent visits to Natural History museums throughout North America and Europe. Visit online at: www.rednettlepress.com