A Strange Transition

He points at one of my books,
strewn carelessly,
trying to make conversation,
he asks, “What are you reading?”
“Oh, that’s Sylvia Plath,
she killed herself.”
“Hmm, really?”
“Yeah.” I shrug.
“she put her head in the oven.”
Then I crawl onto his lap
and I start to kiss him.

3 thoughts on “A Strange Transition

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