A skeletal hand was left on the seat Charise wanted. When she poked it, it scrambled under her feet.
Grasp our babies /gently, between
massive jaws / teach them / to chomp minnows / and toes
Peering inside, I saw
what might have been gray cobblestones,
rough-hewn stairs, old pitch torches
When you leave I’ll preserve you (your memory, I mean). I’ll tuck my dreams of you away in a bed of Egyptian sand for centuries and centuries,…… Read more “A Letter from Your Love Interest (who is not an Embalmer)”
no goblins will glare out of dark cellar shadows because/
we all know, for quite certain, that monsters aren’t real.