She summons his follow with a side long glance of her eyes.
She has John's eyes. John has her eyes. Kyle's face: her eyes.
She kisses his closed with a battle whisper, "I want to remember."
His heart double time beats his answer. "So do I."
Gun oil slicked fingers, they can strip a Beretta in five seconds, they strip him bare now. "Tell about his voice." Those hands trace dragons from teeth on his skin.
He feels the dragons in hers. "Stories. His voice was full of stories."
He trails down into the only soft about her and tastes home made gunpowder, bitter on his tongue.
She pushes him to the floor that will not squeak. "Tell me about the picture."
He welcomes the familiar earth under his back. Solid never change, until it changes. "It was his lucky charm." He could roll them over. He could try. He wants the floor at his back, industrial carpet and dust, while she covers him like trailing hair and muscled sky.
Bullet teeth graze scars. They both have them. Barbed wired flesh and saber deep wounds. "Tell me his favorite color."