The tongue is more akin to a lasso than a harpoon, The way it winds itself round words. Some tie knots in strings and cherry stems, but this wet mouth-dwelling muscle of mine Weaves spells with slight and sinew. In my nose, right now, is the smell of the dark over my primary school on… Continue reading Weds 14th Oct ’20, 20:08.
Saturday, the 5th of March, 2001. An eleven-year-old girl is staying at her mom's- well, her grandparents' (mother's parents)- house, where they have lived for a number of years since her parents split up, and later, divorced. I think it was four years in total- mom moved into her house, if I recall correctly, in… Continue reading Inaugural Flow: The Story Of My First Period