982514
|
|
4900
|
Hot blistery feathers of youth. Youngish, raw-boned, bull-headed. Strong-minded, strong-willed, contemptuous of all. Wrathful, god-like, but oddly enough playing a twilit harp. And from another back the wind lifts up someone’s flesh before perceptible f
|
21593
|
The most she'll see of daylight is a pair of white eyes through the tilted blinds.
|
5400
|
Maybe my heart was up already with that light shining straight out of my eyes. Girls in summer dresses, competing for your attention. Cleavage, legs, new skin with the light down travelling down underneath our clothing. Youth in which the spoken country
|
2013614
|
Stares up at the minute cracks in the box.
|
220135
|
Rape me. At least, I think that's what you said. Or was it your clothes? Yes, that was it.
|
4900
|
Maybe another god’s voice was calling out my name behind me. Maybe my eyes were crossing just a little in bliss or heaven. The silent rise at the opening, having conversation with birds, having almost named the wind, almost burst into flame. But, mornin
|
6500
|
They had intercourse with mouth, face, they flourished and were boned by the sea. They knelt at the shore with every slut and whore, alive again, renewed, brought over by the power of their underside. Sight, vision, noise, sound, breath.
They never
|
98321
|
Butter me up, moon lover. Remember, I was once your warm and hot goddess of flowers, washed to shore with the others you may have forgotten. Now the issue of the earth gets nearer, and we can see each other once again, if only in our dreams.
Just be
|
18251
|
There were the first months, when it didn't happen at all for Jerry. He felt some shyness and embarrassment, but in Dot's mind the joy was too great and this meant good things.
|
122241
|
She comes in with her white bag with its floral patterns scattered, almost accidentally, all around it
|
15351
|
Lydia let the grease cool in her frying pan. She drank three cups of coffee and had to lie down.
|
5600
|
Were you with us when the sunlight fell directly on our skin like this? When we lay around in paintings on the pink sand, with the rose and lavender highlights on our nipples as if the light were passing right through them? The land so pink beneath us t
|
184122
|
It's the way an earnest five-year-old boy pronounces every single letter as he whispers. Something about octopuses, something else about peas.
|
5162
|
|