All the little lines
She held her breath, pressed her palm to the window’s glass as the headstones raced away, and then spoke into exhalation as the scenery changed, “Don’t bury me.” Accustomed […]
wake
it’s difficult to know anyone exists dressed in wanting but her small cold undoings these lies of yours make a river her fingers bare and loose trail in the […]
wasps
The wasps have set up housekeeping in the space of my neglect where echoes muddle meaning so rage twists on itself mere white noise now against my cheek thrum […]