Desire II

That morning, before breakfast, before tea, she stood in the room by the open curtains, by the window, and felt it tugging. She had showered and dressed, delayed the moment when she knew she'd obey. She was drawing it out, the tension, drawing it into her arms and legs, letting it roost in her belly, her scalp, the tips of her ears. She stood by the window and her mind did somersaults, believing for an instant that she might defy it, might choose to resist. It was a possibility that couldn't exist. She made sure her keys were in her pocket. Tension now at the point where something had to give. She opened the front door, walked down the steps of the close, then out, out, like a note that's been building, a phrase, a cadenza, tilting the edge of the throat, the tongue, the lips. She turned the corner and there it was. Flesh-tugger. Fisher of the finless. The sea.



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