Amélie and I reached the foot of the hill around midday. It was lizard green, dotted with trees, bushes and cactus plants, and a sandy
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One morning when I was feeding our birds in the coop, I noticed that two of our pigeons were moving as though drunk. “José, have
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Nobody writes love letters anymore. Romance has been forced to extremes to Prove itself. Grand public displays that Millions witness on tiny screens. Most of
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I am the product of you mirrored in smashed glass Years of bad luck, were they to come or long past? Is my adolescent retribution
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We drank coffee for dinner, I watched my body cave in. Her smile has never shone so bright. In the white room that evening, she
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You & I contend for the vast space beneath your skin. I’m knowingly erotomanic—erotoleptic. Lusting to pierce you deeper-than-dermis & farther-than-fascia. Ravenously thirsty for your
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You’re rattling around in my head like loose change worth a fortune what do I do with you how to honour value when it cannot
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The familiarity of the arms of a stranger in the bar bathroom, the lip gloss passed around, the communal yell of acceptance for a forgettable
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Me cleaning the house and straightening the bedroom in particular, with new sheets and all, was not a wasted effort, no matter what. And doubly
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Mornings are easy. I make coffee fry two eggs read the news. Afternoons I read Hemingway Bukowski then I sleep. Nights are harder. Twelve hours
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if i want to pen such love stories, i must find feet in another continent i must start with the sun rays on his lips
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We chatted for hours on MSN Messenger in our bedrooms behind closed doors, the night drawing shadows on our gaunt faces, my parents fast asleep
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