He used to come over Wednesdays or Thursdays, never one day after the other, never too early, never too late. He knew how to bring it up, at the right time, in the right way. He knew the meanders and corners of the dirt road that led up to my mother’s house where I would be waiting. He knew how to unlock the front door, where to return the key after locking us in and just how to arrange his shoes at the door for smooth flight. He knew the way to the spare bedroom where he would find me waiting, sometimes I would meet him at the door like I was supposed to meet my husband, only he wasn’t my husband. My lover knew how to come to me. He knew how to speak to me with his eyes, he knew every button just by touch, he knew where every cloth should fall on the red floor and all with his lips still on mine he knew how to find himself under me. my lover knew how to look into my eyes while he put my legs around his waist. He knew how to turn up the ringer on both our phones, so our mothe