may kasahara

they were fucking when osama bin laden was murdered. their heads at the bottom of the bed, bodies like there was no such thing as bones -- just skin. he said some things she couldn't understand but she kept going, the technicalities of a heart rate and  his eyes closing and then opening like a butterflies wings.
afterword they heard the news from the other room, she lit a cigarette, her hand cupped over the tip but her eyes tipped over it, on him. she inhaled and laid back down in her underwear. the talk on the television was osama, but they had missed all that, there were other ignitions besides all that. there was nothing to say about osama bin laden.
"i told my therapist about you," she said.
he grinned big, his hands still hungry.

6 comments:

rollerfink said...

this is terrorism on my brain/heart/lungs.

KERRY said...

best compliment, ever

wiredwriter said...

can't top rollerfink but fuck do I love this post

DJ Berndt said...

heart bombs

Dan Wilcox said...

pretty amazing, come read it sometime in Albany, please
DWx

writerose said...

What a great concept, I really enjoyed this :)