by Kerry Graham
He slid my just-fallen flip-flop back on my foot. I thought, “He treats me like a princess.”
Still, it surprised me when, his head in my lap, my fingers in his hair, I disclosed my diagnosis, and, gazing at me, he said, “I’m actually even more attracted to you now. You’re so honest.” Later, his lips hopscotching along my shoulder, neck, nose, mouth made sense.
“I think sometimes I tell people to see if they’ll still love me.” I said this after, but he was asleep: just-fallen. In the dark, my toes still tingled where his kisses, tender, had tumbled.
Kerry Graham lives, teaches, writes, runs, and photographs in Baltimore, MD. Her work has appeared in The Blue Hour, The Three Quarter Review, Spry, elephant journal, and 20 Something Magazine.
Richard Edwards has a BFA in Creative Writing and Journalism from Bowling Green State University and an M.S. in Education from the University of Akron. Managing editor of Drunk Duck, poetry editor for Prairie Margins, reporter for Miscellany, Akron Journal, Lorain Journal, and The BG News. He has also worked as a professional writer and editor in the medical publishing industry for several years. For the last 15 years Richard has also taught literature and writing at the secondary and post-secondary levels. He works much of the time with at-risk students.