that the brushes on the bottle-brush bush could not be redder, that a hummingbird looks in through the window screen, that both my arms
I’ve been mortal but free. In one part I drove a hundred miles for a second date. Mid-October, moonless dark, flatland town. Dinner on
I’m riveted on you daily, awkwardly huddled in my shoes and socks, one with a big toe hole. The problem with youth is the
grief, purchase an orchid, a peperomia, a succulent. These three queens will save you and serve you, even though you are the peasant in