Gwendolyn as Lover – by CM Burroughs

We fix you maternally in the mind, orient you in a case of “tut-tut,” “there there,” and “you’re young yet,” but how many times did you posture yourself for the broad body of him or him and open like home — his hands in your hair, your nerves rising kinetically to the cupola of his palms? Lovers’... Continue Reading →

Crestfallen

did I wake up beneath toasted cotton clouds or smeared tears against the murky eye, haven't the birds alerted of my arrival for one more day or did they jerk me from my empty slumber as tiny wells as thunder hasn't the morning dew grounded me briskly shocking my re-existence or did it soak through... Continue Reading →

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