Tag Archives: romance

Preschool: A Love Story

Jilly, aged three, bared her teeth & bit Jack, four, hard on the arm, breaking skin & drawing blood. Stunned, Jack’s baby blues ballooned & gaped at Jilly, bright with malice & glee. Why Jilly why, Jack cried, nursing his … Continue reading

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Narcissus: a Haiku Break-Up

It’s not really me, but more, well, I suppose you: nothing personal.

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Tendering Anya

Anya and I started making out. It went on for a long, tangled while. I ventured to Anya’s breasts, smoothing my hands over them through her shirt. Then my hands went under her shirt and I was in exciting, unfamiliar … Continue reading

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Young Forever

Anya and I had almost three weeks. The flirt and tease of a young forever. It felt good to be with Anya in this new way. We were no longer ourselves, we were ourselves as a couple, this third and … Continue reading

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Unreaching Anya

Anya I long to reach you only because I know that you are unreachable. It keeps my longing in a chrysalis state, a cocoon state. Nothing ever grows, it simply hums and palpitates and aspires toward growth. It is the … Continue reading

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Peter Pan’s Jesus Complex

Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn, novel-in-progress.    I remember the time, Anya, when my mother asked about you and me. I was thirteen. My mother’s sickness was in its early stages. She had already turned the couch in the livingroom … Continue reading

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Freezing Anya

Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn, novel-in-progress. Anya and I had almost three weeks. The flirt and tease of a young forever. It felt good to be with Anya in this new way. We were no longer ourselves, we were ourselves … Continue reading

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Clemency

At love’s wake, Clemency, claiming the casualty of mask, bleeds gently the half-moon lids of pink and purpose, how we chance to fade into strangers at the risk of memory.

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Kissing Anya

Excerpt from No Man’s Brooklyn, novel-in-progress.      I was hanging out in the schoolyard, by myself, throwing a Spalding against the wall. It was something I did to relax.    Anya breezed into the schoolyard. She was carrying a … Continue reading

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Wait for Me

There is no waiting, not really. Only bated suspension between commas, axles and imports; the spaces between lovers lie in fertile fields fed by small gods and nameless faeries who, by sacred squalls of weeping, consecrate the soil’s underlying reap. … Continue reading

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