I feel her. At the slow trickle of yellow and red-flecked drool. Desi xxx She will never stop thinking of me. I want to touch her. I tell her to remember my name. I am gone. She tries to mouth something. I am gone. Her, in her big empty house. Perhaps she’d been watching the TV, or listening to the radio. I want to touch her. She opens her mouth. In the forest. How He slowly killed me. She shudders. Filthy, stale, salty, watery breath. I turn the side of my face to her that still hints at my past loveliness. The electric gates, the double-garage, the stone cladding masking an unremarkable, yet essentially overgrown and ugly pretentiousness.
