My 'eyes' love to caress your body, an inch at a time...you are so beautiful in the morning window light.

Old lady hunched in the pew curled on herself like a French Horn, arthritic hip all that keeps Trombone husband from sliding proud about town with her, arm in arm.

“If you’re not size 8 or under they don’t have it. Who do they think I am Kate Moss?” I wrote this in a couple of hours. I was just trying to churn out a short story on a quiet afternoon .

ought not to shut you in screen-play to another film, stiple bury you inside a mummified other. the face that you wear is for protection, it's an armour a clever contraption...

Teller ‘You will lead a very lonely life’ she said closing my fingers into a fist. I thought of the fish fingers in the freezer all gold and glittering. ‘No really don’t worry,

Stop putting walls on my face Her legs haven’t purled the air like seedlings or splat palmed the gym mat halfway through a handstand. She hasn’t let her Uncle tie her tooth to a string