In my dreams I have affairs. I run into you naked in a kitchen. We are both naked. I drape a long golden scarf over my nipples. A towel appears around my waist. We press each other very close all the way up the side like a Siamese. Our cheeks are flushed, stuck together - I keep noticing how sweaty they are getting but I don’t want to pull apart. You are so handsome. That smile. I think this feels so nice. You like living. Living feels happy with you. We are looking at desserts. I see one with an egg in it. I can’t have egg but he (the real-world-he) can. I don’t want the egg. But just then it falls, I know it’s the one I must choose. The company will make me pay since the burnt roast blooming chocolate egg has already toppled over. I see the back of the real-world man walking away.

I think I want to leave without fully leaving.

In waking life - the real- world-he comes home. He’s not feeling well. He gets into bed with me. Reaches out a hand. His stomach is my pillow. His hand on mine. We breathe in tandem above the kitchen where nothing cooks and nothing burns.

Katie King lives at high altitudes telling middlebrow jokes. She works in a small kitchen chaotically cubing sweet potatoes. But mostly, she is a rock on strawberry hill, wary of the wishes made in the face of a lion.