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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3982 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Sheering Laurel K. Dodge Distance or proximity, the unit of measurement is always the same to indicate the length in between, the gap. In this strange room, he is estranged from her. Inches away, he will never touch this woman again. Trapped in the window frame: his neck cricked as he looks up at clouds, her head bent in an amen as she looks down at pavement, both gauging velocities and impacts. She gives her back to the leering lense; for once the plunge of cleavage barely contained cannot be seen. Her heavy breasts strain black-threaded seams. A wind unhinges wisps of hair burned white as cadaver flesh, white as the sheer that clings to her hip like a hand, steadying, holding her in. Already the couple know their roles: he the widower, she the ghost. All they need now is a denoument: a closed door, a handful of pills, and the silence that always follows such sheerings. |
