I peeled the rosary from your tongue and placed it at the center of my hand. Just as the lights dimmed we clasped hands, palm over palm with the wet rosary in the middle, and the cellar became a suddenly hesitant entity, cold and silent, coiled and as poised as a marble statue. My fingers—wrapped around your hand—pressed into your skin as yours did mine. I couldn’t see you with my eyes but I could see you perfectly in my head.
Notes
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Justine Marie Corner
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