Tonight, there are raindrops as big as planets. The shine on their slippery surface reflects over the bed as beads of sweat as big as boulders roll from my greasy brow. Down her throat. Down my cock. A sip of whiskey. A mouthful of smoke. Peeking through the blinds, I spy flashes of light on the horizon. Places I’ve been. Places I’ll never return. For a second, they appear before me, monolithic and forever, and then they fade like the touch of someone or other. Her body is arachnid. It changes shape in the corner of my eye. A sudden roar of thunder causes me to leap onto the bed, and as she scuttles beneath the covers, she waits for the perversity of my touch with a cackle and a spasm. The raindrops explode against the window. They remind me of giants peeking at sleeping kids at an orphanage. Poor little Sophie. Poor little me. In black and white, my teeth nibble her neck. The covers fly to the floor, as do our clothes. In between breaths, a wave of dust rises and then falls as the sounds from her throat wash over my body. A million tiny marching legs. A million nostril hairs, bending to the ways of my tongue. Somewhere, out there, my memories collide with the here and now, but before anything can happen, they become another memory, and as we smoke our cigarettes, the tame lies of the future recede like the whites of our weeping eyes.