I am the Messenger

She let herself love me for three minutes.
Can three minutes last forever? I ask myself, but already I know the answer.
Probably not, I reply. But maybe they last long enough.

I can smell the sex on her, and my only hope is that she can smell the love on me.

I expected spades.
I got hearts, and for some reason, this feels the most dangerous of them all.
People die of broken hearts. They have heart attacks. And it’s the heart that hurts most when things go wrong and fall apart.

Then I hear her words again. It takes a lot of love to hate you like this.

They look like they’re so happy, just inside this moment, watching the kids and the lights on their old fibro house.
Lua kisses her.
Just softly on the lips.
And she kisses back.
Sometimes people are beautiful.
Not in looks.
Not in what they say.
Just in what they are.

“Was he good?”
“Well, yes.” He puts the kettle on. “Crazy but good.” His glassy eyes are of kindness now. A giant kindness. “Are you crazy but good, too, Ed Kennedy?”

his huge brown eyes plead for me to calm down.

Just Ed.
I turn.
Just Ed walks on.
Just Ed walks fast.

Her fingertips are made of love. When she speaks, her voice is made of love.

and know that I’m in nervous love with her. Nervous because I don’t know what to do sometimes. I don’t know what to say. What can I tell her when I feel the hunger rise in me? How would she react?