Approaching the kitchen from the foyer the reverb lessened until heel and floor where flint on flint. No spark was made.

no one likes a bitchy cowboyhike up yer britchespull yer brim down'nshut up and ridestop making petsout of peevesand idolsout of gossipinsteadmake a hobbyout of yer horseand fer godsakesseason that saddle

but let's stop and take another look at things could it be through our closed eyes that we didn't really know what we were talking about that there never was a surprise

When I glance at the bedside clock I realize that we have been making love in one way or another for nearly three hours now. I am filled with a certain secret smugness that I am still going strong. It has been a long time since I’ve done anything quite li

In my innocence and young mind, I thought that kiss would mean that someday we would get married

i stained his hockey sheets right over the red wings

Okay, no freaking out. I mean, this isn't a suicide note. This is suicide fiction.

When you finally got blood from the hard stick You spotted the backflash of red And said Thank God. The woman’s legs and arms Were everywhere, and you were in the middle Holding her down with one hand while wielding A butterfly in the other. You stuc

"Geez," I thought, "not only is this daredevil felon fellow my EXACT height and build — his co-conspiring gal-pal must be, too!" I exhaled what felt like a gallon’s worth of air though my nose. "This is just getting too fucking weird ..."

Only the occasional kindness of a stranger,// The curve of his back, a slope rushing past me,// Is luminous, the coin pressed in my hand . . .//// And yes, I beg.//// I open my palm// As Jesus did.//

I ask for your patience with this form message, as it is part of a system that ensures every submissive ex lover is considered separately, since I am involved in a lot of anonymous sex.

I don't know if we'll meet again in the sea of light. Circumstances aren't only up to human beings. After all maybe it's all drunk circumstance, but that doesn't answer the blinding question, it only poses some more. This is…

 …

I watch my mother and my daughter, each wondering in her own quiet way about where this story will go next.

His birthday buddy was like a wife to him: they were born a day apart. This was coordinated, he believe, in the womb. Well, to be more accurate, wombs. She was due two weeks earlier but waited; he two weeks later but cut his womb-time (as the kids call i