We wrote poems in cigarette smoke, or sex as it ran down the side of a boat intertwined in water from a dammed-up lake, forced to exist. Ash singed the pages, humid moonlight that burned our hands until we could not touch. drops… Continue Reading “Afternoon on a Lake”
Some afternoons, my butt hurts like it would after sitting for hours on a light brown, wooden porch swing in the middle of July when I could choke on humidity and become covered with stinging welts from mosquitos quicker than fried chicken leaving a platter… Continue Reading “Porch Swings”