Recidivism [Flash Fiction] by Len Kuntz

We meet each month, forgetting about broken bones and jilted promises, the day we swam naked in The Keys, her affairs, her shoe buying compulsions, the time her mother said I was the wrong one, the day I slammed my fist through the kitchen window, the grown children who no longer live here.

It’s not love we make, but a collision of breath and flesh, a battle of believing in each spiced minute that this is a way to restore ourselves, even though I never stay and our words are only sex cries.

On the way out, she throws a glass that shatters against the front wall, shards spraying my collar and hair.  I don’t bother shaking them off.  The moon is full, but it’s hiding behind a veil.  Night, like a crypt keeper, whispers and moans, coiled around a partner of its own choosing.


Bio

Len Kuntz is an editor at the online magazine Literary Orphans.  He’s been writing full-time for the last five years and has been really fortunate to have had a fair amount of work published in places like Boston Literary Magazine, PANK, Elimae and others.

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