Tag: creative writing
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ephebophilia
two tongues beneath the other; saliva swapping sword fights toying tempest traces circles maps drawn inside faces heavy breath hot and hasty fingers lacing through delicate follicles right of passage teenage kingdom choking child never shares her sighs growing manhood grazes inner thighs brown blue bully eyes convincing and concerning wanting is desire is a…
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little’s trip to the river
When I woke up, the car was empty. My blurry eyes searched anxiously for movement outside the windows of the silver-blue minivan. The car seat belt choked at my neck and I felt small within its clasp. When I tried to reach for the button to unbuckle myself my stubby fingers fell short. No matter…
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inanition
clavicle protrudes through thin cloth, cutting her in her sleep. and at night the crickets soften their song, just to hear her weep. she makes a game of counting each rib; beautiful, translucent skin, with a jaw sharp as a knife, proud of a figure wonderfully thin. calories are punishment; starvation a comforting drape. chew…
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makeup sex
past is present a quiet quarrel is quintessential to the strongest heartbreaks no one knows until it’s all said and done and you will make love again and then the anger is suddenly dissipated until the next time it bubbles up quiet, but never, ever, silent
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love bomb
when he looks at me his eyes swallow me whole I cannot tell if I am swimming in affection or drowning in it my fingers spread and crumple his bedsheets and he stares that ever-hungry gaze temporary obsession is a typical routine followed only by slow fades and a cold front caution keeps me warm…
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as we lay
as we lay side by side drifting into gentle slumber he rests his hand in mine and I cannot tell if the pulse I’m feeling is his, or if it’s my own but I fall asleep the same because it doesn’t matter because our hearts are beating close enough in proximity to be uncertain whose…
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a poem for a stranger who was once my friend
I hate the thought of losing touch I always find something to remember about the people I meet I like the way my clear retainers fit tightly after skipping a night I like old things, because they’ve been loved by somebody else because I like the thought of someone wanting something loved by me I…
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parallel storytelling
When you tell your friends that I’m crazy, I hope you also tell them too about how when you were sick I brought you a cold washcloth for your fever, covering and uncovering your blankets as you asked me to. Tell them about how I brought you chicken noodle soup and medicine and water and…