Day 57: Dusk

He said he’d call at 7:15.
7:31.  No answer. No call.
The air is stale and still, almost too hot to breathe.
She lay in bra and panties sucking ice cubes.
Water dribbles down her chin, between her breasts,
Into the curves of her belly button.

He said he’d call at 7:15.
7:49.  No answer.  No call.
The once caressing sun is now brighter–
Blinding.  She smirks.
As if she could be blinded again.
She changes position.  The red setting sun
Illuminates the wall she’s touching.  Shadows.
An alligator and a bunny play side by side.

He said he’d call at 7:15.
8:19.  No answer.  No call.
Her own voice: lulling and sweet.
She shuts her eyes, slowly licks her lips.
Tracing the outline of her own body, she dreams of his touch.
She rises–
And walks to the kitchen, craving a beer.

He said he’d call at 7:15.
8:36.  No answer.  No call.
She puts on a t-shirt, lays back on the bed.
She rolls on her side, facing the wall.
The bunny eats the alligator.
The shadows disappear.
Motionless.
Darkness.

He said he’d call at…
The phone rings.
And rings.
And rings.

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