He turned onto his back, giving up the sleep pose.
"Come here."
But he wanted to say, "Where the fuck were you?"
She caught his rage, and the fear under that; his eyes, not his voice.
Where's the knife? In the purse, on the dresser.
"Hey."
"Hey."
Lion tamer.
She shuffles off her sandals, walks to the bed, and lies down beside him, then twists, turns, and shimmies on top of him.
She can feel the last waves of his storm settle.
Conversion of the pagans.
To what religion? What ancient rites?
The candles and the incense.
The slaughter and the lamb.
The familiar hymns.
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