They want evidence,cold hard fact.They want his picture taken to provethat he is more than decadence,more than a superficialartifact,crafted by human celebration,a soft mancreated to be theirgenteel bow-tie metropolis manwearing teal, not green,a crossing-his-legs-out-on-the-scene manwith soft handswearing pointed toes, not steel.He is only in their minds,something they find appropriateto construct,somebody they think would bea good
I want to make himeatall his words in bite-sizes too bigto swallow,so that hechokeson his intentions,leaving his deceitful gifts undelivered,dribbling excuses over hischin,running down his chock-filledthroat. I want dusk to settle in hischeeks,while hiseyesplead for my Heimlichand his slippery fingers clutch in vain,imploring mercy,receiving merelya paton the backfor making me think he was morethan random.
It was an unclean kill, a spine-crunchingly majestic twist, and then something warm spilling down my legs, soft fingertips down my back.Listen, she whispered.All I could hear was her breath, so steady, so effortless in my ear.The first time I kissed her, we were out on the porch, gardenias whorling through my nostrils.She was shaking
Drawing heavily upon social experience, I have created a variety of short stories, mostly non-fictional and infrequently fantastical. The bulk of my work consists mainly of Fun with Dick, yet it is my intention to season it with other savory narratives.
Over the years I have compiled a variety of manuscripts in various forms and voice all with the purpose of personal reflection. Girl Punch, Inflections, Etiquette, 4172 Words and Velveteen all represent different feels ranging from repression to infatuation, angst to rumination and acrimony to desolation.