It is the alien quality of your heat that drives and grounds me. Your body is a shadowless bronze desert. Your coppery eyelid knows no fold. We are trapped inside that hollow place anger carves beneath the ground. It is grey down there and the echo of each word we say comes back as if it were never spoken.
New tears drip from the ceiling, joining old tears hardened on the floor.
Only solid pillars meet in the space between us. She is pursuing a Masters of Library Science at the University of Maryland, and is a book reviewer for School Library Journal and Children's Literature. To see what you're missing, please enable JavaScript in your browser preferences.