By Kenneth Weene
The palo verde have declared spring with yellow flowers and glowing-green bark. The pollen lies deep on the sidewalk. Not rose petals, but Sabrina is content. She looks down; her sandaled feet have taken a saffron hue.
Felix will love them. She smiles at the thought. They have been together for three months. It is little things like pollen colored feet that bond them. She imagines his hands washing her toes, tickling her soles with the raspiness of his hard carpenter’s hands. He’ill dry them with one of those thick Egyptian cotton towels. Bought as seconds, the bright yellow towels seem, at that moment, important.
She loves the way he cares for her body. The way he scrubs her back in the shower and applies the almond-scented moisturizer afterwards. She loves it when he takes the comb and brush and tries to do her hair. He cares for her in ways that surprise and delight.
The sex ain’t bad either. They had made love three times the night before; each time climaxing in unison.
Sabrina thinks about his kisses – the gentle, slightly nipping kisses on her breasts – working his way from her cleavage to the areolae – one breast and then the other. She wonders at his lover’s tongue, so soft, so full of caresses.
Such thoughts excite her. Sabrina can feel the moistness of arousal. Her gait changes, faster, more of a skip than a stride. She tosses her head. The light brown of her hair almost dances with her movement. Her eyes seem to change color, blue deepens into lavender.
Reaching deep into the left pocket of her jeans, she fishes for the door key. “Felix,” she calls from the bottom of the stairs.
There is silence.
“I’m home,” she sings as she climbs towards their third floor apartment; it had been hers, but now it is theirs.
Sabrina imagines their two rooms. The living area with its secondhand couch, small table, three chairs – not matching but the right height, television, and the tiny desk that holds her computer. The bedroom. When had they put up that print, two bodies entwined? It had replaced the crucifix her parents had given her when she had graduated St. Mary’s.
“Hello,” she sings out again as she uses the same key to open the apartment door. Still quiet. He’s not here. There is a moment of panic. A moment. She remembers. Sitting on the orange couch, Sabrina pulls her knees to her chest.
“I’m out of here,” he had said.
“Why? What did I…?”
He had laughed, kindly without sarcasm. “I’m falling in love with you.”
“So why are you leaving?”
“Because happiness is fleeting.”
Like the beauty of spring.
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Ken Weene’s poetry and short stories have appeared in numerous publications. His novels, Widow’s Walk and Memoirs From the Asylum are published by All Things That Matter Press.