Sunday Sun

In the park, a dog squats with a strange sense of grace. There are bees and flies, not to mention crisp packets dancing like ballerinas as the blades of grass beneath my feet beg me not to crush their hopes and dreams. The dog grins at me. The park sings. As his knees knock together, my girl waltzes about taking photos of the trees, her smile warm like freshly cooked bread cooling on the side as the Sunday sun gazes through a kitchen window. It’s a greedy sun. It’s a hungry life. The dog shakes its booty when it’s done before racing ahead. I light a smoke and then yawn. Breathing in her head of hair as she comes back into my arms, I sniff out a field from my University days. I can smell it as if it were a perfume lingering on the cusp of my senses like the watchful eyes of a version of me who no longer walks these shores. Her perfume is subtle, like the whiff of flowers in a cemetery at two in the morning. Every time I close my eyes, I see not what’s real, but what I feel, because one life is never enough. For those tamed by what’s on the surface, I have nothing but contempt. As the aroma of flowers tickles my nose, the dog chases his ball and is happy. And when she rests her head against my chin and the wind blows about us, I’m happy too.

X and I: A Novel and A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon UK

X and I: A Novel and A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon US

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