requiem
They sat in it like they were strangers. She poured the syrup, the nozzle opening and closing like a morning mouth. Sticky and unforgiving. She clanked the fork against the plate. He yawned. Their server noted 'couple' on her notepad.
Destiny applied the black lines liberally. She traced her eye like her hands did last night to the strangers body. She didn't remember much. There was a belt, a flash and then the bedsheets. The knock on the door. An apartment buzz.
The beads around her neck sunk deeply into her clavicle. A man's eyes would have to deep sea dive to find the stragglers, a Costeuian effort only the man with the deepest submarine could afford. And that's a metaphor for a penis. She needed a large one, not because she preferred such, but that there was a tarp concealing her entryway.