I used to be able to tell you anything. Through your silences and perfectly-timed kisses, you opened me up to every word I wanted to speak. Vulnerability, honesty, they were stirred by the taste of your tongue. And together we began unfolding.

The Man in my Kitchen

There is a man in my kitchen. Or something like a man, or perhaps something like the shadow of a man. I can’t ever see him clearly, but he’s there, tucked neatly between the humming refrigerator and crumb-covered counter. He is always catching my eye; when I walk down the hallway, when I cross the…


There’s no denying she’s pretty. The type of pretty that takes hours of consideration, lotions, and a calculator to add up those calories. She moves through the world like it’s all just scenery; backgrounds for popped hips and glossed lips and if the lighting’s not perfect, her filter is.

Bad Circulation

You think I have bad circulation. You leave the windows open all night, and I walk through the fresh air wrapped in wool sweaters and puppy dog slippers. You open windows, I close them and we smile politely at each other in the hallway. You demand, “How can you be cold?” And I touch my…