She opened like a flower to the light, letting it wash over and warm her as she displayed her insides, trembling but unashamed. Each petal pulled and sighed and gave, and she believed she was beautiful. Gasping, pleasure moved to pain, as heat overwhelmed her. Her eyes opened, confusion becoming fear. The light had misled…

Cowardly Lion

You like to insist that you were my first man; the first to hold me in solid arms, in a frame that would protect me. You teased me saying I was half in love, and honestly, I was.

She and I

When I was very young, I made her. Or should I say, I met her? She was woven from the threads of my imagination, stars pinned in wild, dark hair, gold dust on her feet.