right hand pointing

Jake is somewhere

outside the adobe.

Violet pours another

cup of coffee.  As she

gazes at the floor,

she ponders the way

Jake made love to her

the night before.  He

was rougher than usual,

and he scared her

though she kept it to herself.

She shudders thinking

about it, not because

of Jake’s roughness

but because of the way

she liked the sensation

of lust heightened

with stark terror.

Just inches away,

beside a leg of the table,

she sees the shadow

of a thick-handed

scorpion.  It doesn’t

even faze her.