It was dark before; quiet.
A white cat, a black patch on its left eye was fixed on a fish tank’s jade bubbles.
With old muddy boots, crushing splendid red orchids, wearing brown shirts, and shouting Adolph Hitler speeches, it came, through a lightning shower driving a rickety grey car.
It banged on doors and scraped on windows, jolting me. Love.
Casting passing black shade shadows. Flatulent, defensive, dragging bags filled with broken heart pieces, jagged crack-pipes, bounced checks, and bad credit.
Honestly.
With its hat in its hand, down on his luck, hungry, wearing milk chocolate eyes, a whisper smile, and athletic six-pack belly.
Love wore old blue jeans and a sweatshirt; they both smelled of last week, and sex.
