Date: July 2022

sticky fingers swipe sugar syrup onto my sparkly shirt.  I scream outrage, your peach fuzz face glistening dark  as the bruised fruit flesh littering the alleyway  of leaves we dally down.  there’s nothing like the August heat,  saturated sunlight bleaching my hair radiant gold-white.  your

/*! elementor – v3.6.6 – 08-06-2022 */ .elementor-widget-image{text-align:center}.elementor-widget-image a{display:inline-block}.elementor-widget-image a img[src$=”.svg”]{width:48px}.elementor-widget-image img{vertical-align:middle;display:inline-block} Blur, Spring 2022, Syd

What were their names? I knew them once. They arrived at the mall diner  every afternoon at 4, and I’d greet them  with silverware already in hand, follow   them back to their booth—always the same one across from the kitchen. Why can’t I picture her face? I see  his thick black-rimmed gla


Opus Archive!

Check out the history of our pages here!