Dualities I slept with your glove(maroon, leather)woven between my fingers.It smelled like you. I awoke with your glove(leather, maroon)pressed against my naked chest.It smelled like me. How quickly you leave me.How quickly we forget. Consummation There are nights like this.Nights you rush through to seeif colors are more vibranton the other sideSolitude is an arta … Continue reading Three Poems by Rae Rozman
by Kate St. Germain I took any advice I could get for six months after Lila died. I meditated, I socialized. I focused on the present; I planned for the future. I was counseled, I was massaged by reiki masters and prophesized by shamans and priests. I went vegan and munched on leafy greens. I … Continue reading Rage
by Sage Leona in the golden hour that lasts three monthsi smoke a cigarette&&&&&&and fall in lovethe warmth feels endless, and it is{from the tan on my legs&&&&&to the taste of your kiss}tobacco lingers on my breaththe nicotine dances in my head ‘but what good thing lasts more than a season’taunt the bees who have … Continue reading Summer’s Smoke
by Lucy Zhang My first love taught me how to fold a pinwheel. You need a square sheet of paper, he told me. But I had no square paper on hand, so we snuck a stack of white 8.5 by 11 printer paper from the classroom supplies closet. You can use this as a bookmark, … Continue reading My Love is on Paper Only
by Melissa Chappell Upon his bed of white linen, he laid me down. I was beneath him when the sun looked upon us with its jealous eye through the polished window panes. His hands were praising me, when the stratus clouds stretched over the sun’s burnished light, denying it glory. My mouth was seeking the … Continue reading The Storm
by Kristen Dunn There will be a time and place for me But I guess it is just not now The thread is unraveling And I don’t really know how Life is always moving We are dictated by the sun I remember when he met me But I didn’t know he would be the one … Continue reading Just Not Now
by Hannah MacAfee She stretched out and tried to recapture that multi-layered furnace between her legs, but it wasn’t working, it was dead. She said nothing as she lowered her extended leg back down and tried to occupy her mind with anything else besides the bag of chips that sat opened in her pantry. Eventually, … Continue reading Home Repairs
by William Doreski This is our third honeymoon and the first on which you’ve spoken to me, to anyone. The Volga flows under our little room. The innkeeper wields no recognizable language. Your native Russian means nothing to him. When English falls from my mouth it writhes on the carpet, where he extinguishes it with … Continue reading Honeymoon on the Volga
Dream Noir 