Fuck Buddies




"Is there anything you'd like to ask me?"
She rose from the bed, a gathering
of silky milk flesh,that Gloria Swanson
lack of decoded expression, or the eyes,
rolled microfilms of ennui & Zhivago brooding.
She lit an ultra-slim & faced
the window overlooking Alexanderplatz.
Her naked butt was as cute as Betty Boop
or what I remembered of Betty from
a spliced childhood, city to city.
I felt a sudden chill. I almost forgot
about the cold war, both so very near
and far. "When we will meet again?" I asked
in my officious off-M5 tone. She turned

& offered a slow rhapsody of a smile.
Her love, if it could be called that,
dished out in equally small rations.
" I do have a husband, you know."
I loitered on those words, You know.
"What does he do again? An investigator
of some sort?" "Yes. Missing persons. Finds them."
"You mean he recovers those who went over the wall."
Her smile turned to a thin wavering line.
Her eyes grew as large as my old war wounds.

They're building tunnels all over the world,
I thought. Someday, we'll meet halfway in one.
I closed my eyes. I imagined the screams
of a young agent being tortured. Some
never made it back. Like in everything.

I jumped from the spider's nest of a bed,
dressed, adjusted my homburg,
tucked my .38 in holster.

"Next time?"

"I don't know."

"What city?"

"Berlin. Prague. I'm not sure."


"A Sauvignon Blanc."

"You always go for cheap."

I kissed her on the cheek and rushed
into my Ferrari. I had to find her husband.
I wanted to hear what she had told him
about me.



- Kyle Hemmings