The Other Woman

57 bruce Debra Bruce The Other Woman Forsythia thrusts against the screens and you're back again. I haven't lost you at all, you say, and prove it with kisses with her taste still on them as I slip my tongue into your mouth for the rapprochement. Can't we be reasonable about this, you want to know. A gunshot of petals scatters from the dogwood. Of course, I want to know her. You suggest she and I have coffee. Imagine steam curling around the lips of your two women. We could sip your name together, politely, and please you that way. But I want all three of us to lie in a room that sweats spring rain. I want you to trace her waist with my fingers. Her hips, you've told me, jut more sharply than mine. Now show me. You said the slopes to her belly are steep, so let me go, let me slide, slide down them. ...