I still recall what she looked like in the lobby below, in
the old office, in August, so hot my eyeballs sweated just to look at her, so
taunt under her sundress, sunglasses hiding half her face.
I melt even recalling it, how intense the sunlight was, how
I could – even if the cubbyhole a whole flight up – smell her scent that send
me into an enthrall turmoil, thinking she was going off to meet another man,
somewhere where the two could roll in the hay in some cheap motel room maybe or
in her perch above the church.
I recall the ache I felt at thinking of another man’s hands
moving over a landscape my hands ached roam, that sundress, that August, in
that overwhelming heat.
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