by Alexandria Peary
But then one day you’ll get that phone call
Notifying you to get ready.
“How does it taste?” you ask.
Moonlight cocktails are the thing.
by Elizabeth Kirschner
while listening lists
in ears nude as touch,
in flesh lucid
as an orange womb.
by Katherine Soniat
Blue petals swayed above the sand,
then August tomatoes came to mind
on the heels of a little red cat.
by Norma Marder
The man arrived early, chunky and muscular. Quiet, compressed. In his late twenties. We were going to the movies. My room was earth–colored: brown walls, fabrics, and furniture. One lime green rocking chair. An overhead light, a lamp. The curtains were drawn. The blind date sat in the rocking chair, and I sat on my bed, which doubled as a couch. A bit of a chat before catching the movie. His name was Tom Lena. He worked for a small town newspaper.
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