by Issa M. Lewis
The weight of his gunmetal tongue was staggering.
A projectile of marked velocity, propelled
by an explosion—in this case, uncontrolled. I had deflected—
turned a shoulder to his trigger finger, left a strand
of hair that must have tugged in just the wrong way—
just enough—or not nearly—depending on which of us you asked.
The sex we never had made him twitch. Someone told me later
it was because he liked me so much
that he wanted me to vanish. That he wanted to do the vanishing.