egret plumes. theyre excuses, soft distractions you hold onto while everything else burns. shes sitting because movement would make it real. because sitting lets her pretend, lets her play the scene with a trigger finger ( Read more... )

the clock was counting down to what it only knew, what was hands dragging too many (hunting) seasons: a bullet to a deers chest and unwilling antlers hung by the oak wall. im tracing lazy circles over the thin film of dust on the dinner table, running through the scalp of grooves worn rough by hands before mine that still carried the air of ( Read more... )

vampires like you with hunger mistaken for high art sip on elegies of what you think are expensive tastes: the pulse of someone elses heartbeat too rare for hands tanned by daylight, too precious for fingers sunburnt and trembling ( Read more... )

blood courses quicker than the frostbitten thought on christmas nights. drunken sensation, these feverish hearts singing through carols, singing the cold into something softer. you, you let the snow blow gentle kisses onto your sugarcane cheeks, a snowflake a mark, breaths sweetened with the ghost of cocoa into crystalline air. this while the rest ( Read more... )