I wait for my lover’s touch like I’ve done on a thousand pitch-black nights just like this one, then he’s in the motel room, shiny hair, sleek and youthful, looking at me with still-married eyes electric blue in the flash of his lighter as he crisps the end of a joint. He says I’ll tell her about us soon, but next time he hasn’t and I know he won’t. And though he cuts off my light and leaves me in the dark with his lies, when he reaches for me all I see is the sun and it is blinding.

Bio: AJ Atwater