Cat's Ear

"There are things to be said," said the girl to the cat, "that fall apart when strung into sentences." The cat purred and blinked once. "Like the way I'm afraid the moon is a hoax and the News a poorly written play. Or, the way I need love, or hands, or all my lost, 'Screw it. I'm sorries,' that get caught up in twisted stomachs and sweaty palms. Or sex. Why so quiet all the time about sex?"

The cat slid his nose under the girl's hand and pushed his head into her palm. She scratched between his ears and worked her way under his chin where the skin was thin and tight. "Like in a dream where a lover becomes another, and then home unknown." The girl stopped her hand and looked up. "I'm rhyming. I'm not supposed to rhyme in prose, not hardly even in poetry anymore. How does everyone remember not to rhyme all the time?"

He licked her palm and she laughed. The cat rolled over onto his back and the girl put her face to his ear, her lips to his ear. "I'll drop them into here, in your ear, my dear. And no one else will be the wiser." And so she did, and so did he, and no one was the wiser.