The Heart Does Not Know What It Cannot Have

 “I take him to see all those sexy movies,” she said, “because it puts the passion back in him. I love what he does to me when we get back home after those movies.”

 “Yeah,” I said, “but don't you think he's like all hat and no cattle?”  

She frowned, and I could see I had crossed a definite line. These two suited one another, like a dark streak crossing a dark path, even as he was sucking down the cream of her heart. There were reports of her cooing like a dove, then yipping like a puppy, when she was underneath him.

Alfie, my dog, hated him. Every time he came over Alfie would just keep barking and barking, like he was a mailman in his other life.

But trying to reason with her was a little like winning the Woody Allen Prize for Poetry. You couldn't be sure whether it's a blessing or a curse. Either way it's not enough to buy two #2 yellow pencils, pre-sharpened.

But at night, unlike me, they sit before infinity, touching. And she still covers their shadows, I bet, with suggestive lipstick.