That night I collected dust between my teeth, sucked the chalk deep into my lungs, letting the grit settle and clog all airways.
It may have been murder, might have been suicide. You never were one for opinions.
That night I was your dartboard mattress, ice pick holes dribbling dander and loose-lipped gossip. Feathers stuck to your gleaming erection, fire ant bruises speckling your knuckles.
It would have been mid-August. It could have been our honeymoon.
You always liked endings more than sappy courtships, but really it was our whole story you revised, burning it down with the start of one smooth kiss.
Len Kuntz is a writer from Washington State and the author of four books, most recently the story collection, This Is Why I Need You, out now from Ravenna Press. You can find more of his writing at https://lenkuntz.blogspot.com.