Photo by Roberto Reposo on Unsplash
by Zvi A. Sesling
Long nights like knives cut deep and you wake up next to someone whose name you vaguely remember, Judy or Trudy or maybe the last name is Moody. It doesn’t really matter because after a cup of coffee you’ll be gone with a promise to call. She doesn’t offer her number because she thinks you know it, but there is a kiss goodbye that doesn’t taste like the first one the night before, if you could remember what it was like, which you don’t and it doesn’t matter. The door to her apartment shuts behind you. Shuts her in and shuts you out. Open the door to your car and look ahead as you drive away.
Zvi A. Sesling has published poems and flash fiction. He edits Muddy River Poetry Review and 10By10 Flash Fiction Stories.
