Her fingers dug into her forearm, through skin as pliable and bloodless as modeling clay. What she removed was a smooth, oval disc of black stone. A river rock. It was one of dozens she had extracted since noon, all scattered around her. When she was done for the day, her skin without a mark, … Continue reading river rocks
The two women glared at each other even as they scooped ice cream into their mouths. In creamy spittle, they cast shade. "What an asshole," declared Mabel. "You saw that that was my chair," she complained bitterly into the crowded space, hoping someone would corroborate her claim. But finding such a soul was even more … Continue reading hot times at the ice cream social
She wasn't strong enough to manage the pain of every terrible thing she saw. She could only look at her feet while carnage ensued around her.
Every Christmas, the two sisters were each gifted a doll that had the coloring of the other. Beth, the elder sister, always coveted Maddie's doll. She yearned to have a doll with hair like the light of the sun and a dress the color of cotton candy. Instead, Beth received the Latina version of the … Continue reading the gift
When the nightingale sleeps, she wanders over a shifting desert, her bare feet in a moving embrace before, burning hot, the sand won't release. She falls, her face kissed by golden grains that she breathes in with forced affection until her lungs are full of love.
Her fingers worshipped each curve and hollow on the pilgrimage over his body, a holy meditation that delivered her to the divine.
His vanilla cream coating hid a core of sticky, sweet cherry filling, the round succulent globes pressed in on each other like earthy hearts of blood red juices to soak her shivering tongue in ecstasy.
Oh, whispering muse, thank you for your generous gifts of inspiration wrapped, curiously enough, in fragile bubbles that drift briefly and often imperceptibly toward my general direction. I'd be even more grateful if I could receive more of your messages. Could you possibly work on your aim? I'm never quite sure if the packages are … Continue reading oh whispering muse
She is a rich soil, plowed and seeded, then left to grow until harvest.
She studied the calendar. How many more years before her desire died down, she wondered. Before biology would loosen it grip on hormones that held her hostage. It was a taskmaster demanding carnal satisfaction, an appendage she neither wanted nor needed, a great distractor from dreams that mattered. It would never be satisfied, could never … Continue reading longing has overstayed its welcome