Two Ladies
Two ladies do without husbands over the long term. Two ladies develop pet names for eachother. Two ladies call out in the night. Two ladies like treats. Two ladies penetrate the distances of long forgotten nostalgia together. Two ladies divulge numerous intimate secrets, under the guise of discussing the calamities that can befall any physical woman. Two ladies recall outmoded swear words. Two ladies develop rodent habits of storage and tension. Two ladies feel diminished. Two ladies realize quiet misrepresents panic. Two ladies sweat. Two ladies feel quickly across surface for the pressure of new appearances. Two ladies open letters. Two ladies touch nightgowns to their uplifted feet. Two ladies dust, knocking over chairs. Two ladies sweep furiously. Two ladies look up from waiting. Two ladies still recognize a doorknob. Go to the window. Lean out, like a squirrel, motioning the light sideways with its hand.
