The Lover

Michael Shewmaker

Winter 2017

presses his ear against the thinnest wall
of his apartment. In the empty space
between, he hears a static like the sea’s.

Past that—above the television’s talk
she always falls asleep to—a loud clock
tallies the gradual hours.
He waits until
she rouses for a drink, washes her face,
removes her lenses. Then he pulls away,
paces the hall again.

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