What I want from you has little
to do with sex, though it, like wine
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It was a spectacular spring: sparrows bickering in the trees, the street carts smelling of syrupy cashews in front of the Jewish Museum— you bought flowers, said Hi to ...
The plot’s restless. Newness grown stiff from disuse. To believe to have lived through the end of something and still to remain in that tight ruse of ...
We come together. To love someone means to imagine their death. 2 a.m. and you lie awake in fear of us. What if? What if? Call your mother. Say you’re ...
