trace and tuck her gown.
We are both wet from rain, and I can see that she has awoken,
tears trickling down.
I taste the brine as our lips
Nothing happens, she doesn’t pretend to wake up.
I know what dead lips look like—shriveled and pale—like so many lovers.
Too many apples to count. I’ve waited and practiced
and now her lips are soft and full.
I hold her hand, trace a line and whisper—“I know you are awake.”
She takes her hand back.
“I was never asleep, just waiting.”
“Well, I’m the Prince. I’m supposed to rescue you.”
Rain trickles down my back. There should be fireworks or something.
“Maybe I’ll love you,” she smiles.
“Maybe I’d like to be dry.”
I brush her cheek with my hand, savoring the softness.
I pick her up, and we go inside.
Kim Malinowski earned her BA at West Virginia University and her M.F.A. at American University. She currently a student of The Writers Studio. Her chapbook is forthcoming from Kind of a Hurricane Press. Her work has appeared in War, Literature, and the Arts, Mythic Delirium, as well as others.
Altered image by Heinrich Lefler