The story executes itself based on vantage points.

The boy positions himself on a patch of light streaming

through the window and revels in the privilege of sight,

the mere opportunity of intrusion. Across his window,

the couple performs the rituals leading to that hard fuck.

Each groan and grunt challenging the unsullied innocence

of him, the sheer tenderness of him. Until the boy claims

his own narrative: the geography of crumples on his mother’s

curtains, the road of his body in which his hand trudges on,

the friction of his teeth against the crescents of his lips