The hungry spell of the season’s air turns her head to the open window. Outside, the earth promises to draw blossoms from the chilly branches, from the chilly buds, from the chilly stalks. This is an ivory blending of seasons and smells and it all points to a time he returns. Among the folds of ornamental oranges, the close of the year’s first month and a Hallmark holiday, he comes.
And their lips taste the same way they have for years, like fierceness, like need. As lovers, they’re rough and bold and can’t forgive each other for being there. And they’re familiar. She smells like always and he touches her face to probe her mouth, to feel her smile. They paw and shuffle and compete to fake the best indifference. It’s a curse and she knows it. After she loves him, he hates her for it. And she turns mean.
And, when he’s gone, she turns back to the window, to the smell of a chilly season, to the earth’s promise to bring buds from the branches and stalks.
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