Browsing Category Poetry

Role-play

God of the cuffs, key clenched in the apse your mouth makes. God of dead aphids greening the rose whose thorns furrow me. Call me seed. As in: all I’m good for. Yes, I promise…

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Gone Rogue

In middle school,          our hygiene teacher Mrs. Miller warned                   the girls about rogue sperm:                   they infest all the swimming pools and ponds, they          inhabit the shower (don’t take one after…

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