Guest fiction: Mourning

I. pre-morning, a prologue

the bag in my hand splatters, the bottle breaks.
I wait for the familiar aroma of whiskey to wind its way up,
rise
and I know that it will lie there,
an irregular pool,
hoping never to be mopped.

II.

“you sexy thing”
(he made love to me
in sets of three words

with only one pronoun.)
Please. Come back,
and I will not envy

the copper stud of your levis
so close and cool, solid

against your stomach.

Let me be the dust laid down upon
your shelf ““ in the nice calm
of the sheer gleam, the must,
your sweet negligence.

Shiver for me (this one last time)
you don’t have to
make love with three
silly words. Give me
time, three countries of miles,

and no pronouns.

Nguyen is a third-year English and communication studies
student.