Detour

They are kissing in the middle of the street, cars passing on either side, the moon peering over the pale blossoms of the plum, as the man bends down, opens her mouth, her body, with the deft instrument of his tongue. She presses her fingernails into his arm. He tears the scarf from her throat. They are sparring. No, they are dancing. Impossible to say. She has lifted off her shirt, dropped it on the pavement. He has bitten off her earring, the small, black beads breaking free inside his mouth. Behind a fence, a dog barks.[…]