NaPoWriMo, Day 4


The weight of his gunmetal tongue was staggering,

relentless.  A projectile of marked velocity, propelled

by an explosion–in this case, uncontrolled.  I had deflected–

turned a vulnerable shoulder to his trigger finger, left a strand

of hair that must have tugged in just the wrong way–

just enough–or not nearly–depending on which of us you asked.

The sex we never had  made him twitch.  Someone told me later

it was because he liked me so much

that he wanted me to vanish.  That he wanted to do the vanishing.

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