Photo by Kym MacKinnon on Unsplash
by Francine Witte
I answer, same as always. Nightfingers sweaty and clamped around me like a fist I can’t shake out of. I was the last kiss on the dead guy’s lips, all strawberry luscious but stinking of goodbye. He left after a comfort scotch or two. Later, he drove himself into a wall that was harder than unreturned love. Now, when he calls, I tell him, same as always, come back, maybe we can try again.
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Francine Witte’s newest collection of Flash Fiction, RADIO WATER, has just been published by Roadside Press. Please visit her website at francinewitte.com
