#progression1 skin so white spilled milk across the blue sky of my bed sheets a kiss where you live where you blush where you hide when you’re shy. my breathy journey over your terrain. #progression2 tears so bright a snail’s trail of grief over one swollen breast A taste where you hurt where you...
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Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him? Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act V, Scene 1 Curled on the sagging couch in her cold and cheerless flat, she hugs herself to prevent the unseemly disgorging of her entrails. For surely they must be on the verge of falling...
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Time blossoms and rots in this ruin where we circle each other with exquisite care. Ragged and wounded, claws politely retracted in a gesture of good faith. But the knowledge of your sharp teeth and my poisoned skin can’t be unlearned. Nature has made us a pair of monsters each in our own way...
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  Here is the line drawn in flesh the vertical gash no man’s land. I’m a practiced hand with compass and ruler making walls of words where flesh should be. Here is the well of pure pain the cup that runneth over. And I at the bottom misshapen dragon with flightless wings and memories...
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  Night heat, no breeze sweat beads born at your temple glaze your cheek bone drip from your jaw onto your chest Slow water torture my tongue tip stings anticipating its labour in the salt mine of your skin. Tonight this still inferno through viscous curtains of shadowed space I want nothing but you...
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I remember perfectly the last time I fucked, it’s easy to do as an observer: how the body moves, the muscles flex and relax, the spine arches, the ligaments seize, and the puppet moves. Almost as if it’s alive, an artform. So close to the real thing only the most observant of lovers can...
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I lowered my coffee cup and leaned across the breakfast table. “Honey?” “Mmhmm?” Arthur was on autopilot, halfway through the Sunday cryptic crossword puzzle. “My vibe’s broken. It’s not the batteries. It’s just dead.” He looked up. “The little silver egg with the wired controller?” “Yeah.” “Bad design, considering its purpose,” he huffed. “Can...
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