10-21-04 - 9:42 p.m. fake: he slept on the couch down the hall from her as the storm came through. the windows were open. she had left them open. he knew she had a thing about hearing the thunder while still being scared of the loud noises. she kept the windows open in rooms she wasn't in. she could shut her door and wake up, muddy-minded mid-night, and hear the muffled roll from her living room. he stayed there, waking up, turning on his side, his back, never quite leaving that dream of her, under him, pulsating beneath his fingertips, heat and this almost solid light right there, under his lips, pushing into his mouth. the thunder was so heavy that, the next day, he would awaken and be unsure if he dreamed the storm or it had really happened. he woke before she did, always. he woke and stood. popped his shoulders. walked out, down that road, seeing the aftermath of the storm, the leaves piled in the gutter, the limbs broken and dangling like icicles about to melt. previous - next