"do you?" he wondered into my palms sweat, spit, sighs and pulse combine his head my lap our couch the door and window too far the oven is not on, the phone does not ring i have no excuse to leave his question a white gloved finger dragging across my chest finding that dust has settled on this love and i am not good as i thought i would be at housekeeping silk plants our cornered canards neither grow, nor die nor change with time just sit and mock our shadows as we continue to pass the threshold thusly, i've discovered that laughter is too overwhelming for this empty loft of ours the octave of a woman's glee tends to carry easily pass the walls and down the hall to opening elevator doors where not even the echoed thud of grocery bags purse dry cleaning and keys can cover flower scented giggles that chase trust back to the first floor of our building i have every right to remain silent and continue calculating the change in the number of morning to midnight cigarette butts in the ashtray.
"lying is the most fun a girl can have with out taking her clothes off" alice.