we dance across
the grass
legs intertwined in
the salt of sex
the trees above our hearts
the leaves tangled in our hair
our lips spread in the grins of
children
as we lay there
the sun
paints you gold
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SYDNEY
CHANDLER
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See AllPick-pocket change and a trail of dust –– licked clean; huffed deep; a rolled-up tenner in hand –– She tells you she had to put the dog...
So delicate, the mountains stand, like paper-mache experiments sculpted by a shaking hand, no, perhaps a thoughtful hand, one set with...
They stand tall in the thousands. Momentous in their tear-shape patchworks. Each attached to the tree limb by one thin strand, one so...
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