I can think of worse things. It’s windy in your head, she says, but I like the soughing in my mind. Thoughts blow through
Steadying the thick red marker against the white board, you wrote ostranenie then finished the word with a period. Your hand was simultaneously a
Night sneaks in like a lover’s whisper: breathless, untrue, close. You wait at an unlatched window, conjure doors to close. I can live with