Sad Love
Gregory Sherl

She wasn't dead this time. She invented hugs. French kissing spoils if you leave it out too long. I followed her down a pier. Standing at the end of the pier, she looked through my neck fat. She paused the sky, and we ate the quietest snow cones. When you wake up she said, mowing my chest hair. Don't call me. It lasted as long as it needed to.