her slingshot legs

I brought my face up and looked through her slingshot legs.

“Jesus, you melt in my mouth,” I said.

She guided me back to her flesh fountain. “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she instructed. “And don’t call me, ‘Jesus.'”

After we fed one another, she turned and faced the wall. She would sleep soon. “Lock the screen door, too,” she said. And I did. And on the way to my car, I saw the same cat as always, a little mountain dividing the road. I waved and it didn’t wave back, but we had an understanding — visit its neighborhood, yes, but live here — never.

{flash fiction ~ Tommy Tung}
{photographer ~ unknown}