A One Sentence Story About Cheating And Death


You hold my hand under a magnificent maple tree that is ninety-­two years old as morning dew drips on to my palms and trickles down under into my sleeve and you wipe my wrists with your fingers as tears soak my dusty sports jacket and bite your lower lip to give me “Fuck you” eyes as you drink the sunrise in with your soft translucent golden eyes while you think about the last time I touched you which was about a week ago in our bed where we held hands and planned our marriage that was to be this afternoon yet I watch your beautiful and corrupted and ignorant body above me and all I see is a struggling angel holding a dead man within her soft arms crying to her god for a safe journey home and a kiss for that one last goodbye and her reflection on the steel coffin with another man.