She met him outside a taqueria wafting tortilla cooked fresh and earthy into the December air. It was the shortest day of the year, which she might’ve read as a sign, Continue reading
My hollow stomach wallops as though I’ve swallowed a bleating goat. It kicks and butts and bahs, rips my villi like mouthfuls of grass. I am its pasture, and this –
This is how I know I like him better than other men.
My fingers move like needle points, spun between the poles of
Clavicle and calves. Invisible lines of magnetism,
Your freckles are my guides. By nights these constellations, traced,
Become my map and sky: Polaris, and the star charts — a universe laid bare.
We hunger, knead the dough we want to eat: Continue reading