She is woken by the sound of two foxes fucking. Beneath the dry moon, abalone on Azurri blue, their shrill, alien shrieks reverberate off the cold night roofs in a brutish cacophony; a frenzy of despair. They sound as if they are being burned alive from the inside.
This is the sound of unfulfillable desire, she thinks, still half asleep but something familiarly wakeful resuming in her mind like some dull production line routine. The mystery of love revealed. This is what compels us - our hearts' song laid bare. A timeless, endless yelp we can't control. That is all I'm missing, she thinks.
As the foxes noisesome coupling resumes, her thoughts turn once more to him - the one who should be hers but is with someone else; a white rose stem held firmly in his bite. She conjures him up with a lazy wristed castanet click and they commune, the three of them, howling as they burn on in their slow hell.
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