...
...
Flesh is heretic. My body is a witch. I am burning it. Yes I am torching her curves and paps and wiles. They scorch in my self denials. How she meshed my head...
It never mattered that there was once a vast grieving: trees on their hillsides, in their groves, weeping – a plastic gold dropping through seasons and cen...
In the worst hour of the worst season of the worst year of a whole people a man set out from the workhouse with his wife. He was walking – they were both ...
for Kevin The woman is as round as the new ring ambering her finger. The mirror weds her. She has long since been bedded. There is about it all a quiet search...
You rise, you dawn roll-sleeved Aphrodites, out of a camisole brine, a linen pit of stitches, silking the fitted sheets away from you like waves. You seam d...