the man remembers your body, remembers to love you again, flicks you like a switch waiting, ready in the room’s shadows. Loneliness rises from each reclaimed centimeter, a humiliating eagerness rushing you like a hound loosed in woods, your cry like baying or keening, months of waiting become sound. After, the man sleeps, peaceful, but […]
The football players, when accused of raping the drunk girl, said she had approached them, pulled their pants down and sucked their penises into her mouth. One claimed he was unable to achieve an erection despite her efforts. Another felt inappropriate, zipped up, and walked out. One was seen […]
In the beginning, every last one of them overshadows like a god. Their flesh, with its insistent power of resurrection, rends easily your inadequate membrane, silly shroud that surrenders as destiny is foisted upon you. A woman’s door is always ajar. A child makes itself at home, swelling you, as death does the […]
I’m one of those men, he told me with a crooked little smile, reaching gingerly across the space between us. Men you read about in history books, he said, as his right hand, the hand with one finger gone AWOL, vanished into the darkness up my skirt and crept beyond my underwear’s flimsy barrier. It […]
This one likes me best when I sit astride him, legs bent so knees push either side of his hips. I keep my eyes closed mostly but don’t mind that he watches my body, the grace of each easy collision. I like to think of twinkling lights, snow with no steps on it. I like […]
I put my makeup on and make my face in shades blending to shadow. A man looked good because I’d not seen him before. Fuck yes I pulled a woman’s belt loop just to get closer. I was low enough to touch somebody’s This is me. I’ve known the darker the […]
Mary said, I deserve a steed for this. The sex that didn’t need bodies. This swag. No hip craned nearly out its socket. Not one flex. Seduction is when, down on my knees, my lip gets licked by Common Whitlow. You must get comfortable, get both your hands dirty […]
I’m aware of the dead’s hands on my shoulders, their shoulders torn by barbs and bottles, hands that lead but do not aid. In the blue before morning I come across you, and because I want someone to kiss me I lock eyes with you like a sickle locks wheat, like it […]
