Carl Can't Kiss

     In the spirit of “All flash fiction is poetry and all poetry is flash fiction.”
     Philip Bram Casady

SuZanne in seat 28, row L. Her Z nudges her. The stage skips out the theater door. A dozen eyes glare at her. A dog-eared script grabs her hand. Her Z sighs.

Faded memories and glory tap Suzanne's shoulder. Carl can't kiss. Never could. SuZanne tangled in a duvet determined to orgasm. Never happened. Her Z wilted. Pretend Carl pretend.

A long-legged ego with ginger curls waltzes past the proscenium arch. Hurls herself into the orchestra pit. Carl can’t kiss. SuZanne catches her with one hand. Her Z slaps Carl. SuZanne's mouth grabs Carl's lips. Chews them off. Like this Carl like this.

SuZanne splattered with passion. SuZanne in splendor. SuZanne embraced by ruby sweet tendrils. Her Z strokes Carl's hair. "Places!" says the ghost lamp.

SuZanne in seat 28, row L. Carl breaks a leg. The ginger ego takes a bow. Bouquets ride through applauding thespian air. Z skips out the theater door. The curtain falls. SuZanne burns with acclaim. Carl still can't kiss. SuZanne marries him anyway. ©kcasady2016