One in the Morning

by Amie Faye

One hundred dollars to be loved for
one hour by a woman named Beloved.

The volume on the rental car radio is
turned all the way down to one as you

and her wrinkle the leather in the
backseat with your naked, dry flesh. One

time when you were a boy playing in front
of the tv, dad said the heart of a hooker is one

tough nut to crack, but this one wears her
heart on her sleeve and wears your wedding

ring during sex. One ring, twenty-five layers
of dead skin burned deep into it like a greasy

tattoo. One day you will swallow that ring like
a flame and the marriage that came with it.

Thirty minutes left and one moist, manicured
hand is wrapped around your tie squeezing on

your neck and one hand is in a warm place your
wife doesn't touch anymore unless it's your

anniversary. With just one minute of the
hour left your lifeless sperm fills her hand.

The low radio hums and no one in the car
says anything. Your swear and exhaustion

seeps into the seats. One cigarette heats up
the chilly back seat as you re-dress. She

stays for one song after the hour. Your
wedding song comes on and you realize

that at one time you and your wife fucked
like this.

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