Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Lunch On Next To the Last Day

Tilted you back in the bend of my elbow, smelled lunch on your lips and there we were, two long shadows across the grass. You said you could hardly remember what we ate. You laughed when I said Spotted Dick was the main course, reminded me to be mindful, moved your lips against mine, lightly, no pressure, only lunch.
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My short story "I Am War, Mr. Tolstoy" published today

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