Last night as we lay in bed we talked about one-night stands we’d had you told me about the time in Salt Lake City when you went away to college when you’d spent a night in a sling high on heroin with a line of married Mormon men waiting their turn to be inside you the smell of the fireplace filling your nose is what you remembered most beyond the window mountains blanched with snow and this morning before you awoke I kissed your half-open mouth I watched the blackening snow bank along the curb as people slushed along the sidewalk above us a hunk of clouds formed grackles crackled above a church lot nothing more was said