she waited. that's what a woman does when she loves a man.

she loved a man who was a fighter,
a modern day gladiator in the Fight Games.
when he was told about the secret location of a fight game,
he drove there in his pickup truck.
his blue truck: blue of the darkening twilight sky, just before
it turns to black and breaks into stars.

he didn't fight just for the money. this confused him.
he wasn't smart enough to understand the intricate functions
of the psyche. he only knew he was compelled.
 
there is a compulsion in all of us.
a force that we can't resist.
it pushes us to do a certain thing.
maybe a good thing. maybe a bad thing.

after every fight, when the crowd dispersed, the floor was
stained in an abstract spectrum: the red of drying blood, black
fragments of regret, and the blue of shattered hope.

she worried about him. not that he would get hurt.
he absorbed the pain and struggled past it.
she thought there would be a night
when he did not come home.

   but not tonight.
she was in bed when she heard his truck.
he took off his shirt and sat on the porch.
she got up and walked toward the door.

she was nude. because nudity was the most comfortable thing
she had to wear. she stepped outside,
arms folded, eyes hosting sorrow.
she was framed in blue moonlight.
he went to her, put his arms around her.

he said  taste your blueness.
she said  You  taste it.