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.
(Mon 5th Nov 18, 18:28.) The second whiskey-laced homemade hot chocolate in three days: it is Bonfire Night, after all. I imagine scaling-down to Borrower size, the subject of rogue experimental science and diving into my dark lilac scalloped mug, the intricate embellishments of birds, botanicals and butterflies encircling the inside rim a lullaby mobile… Continue reading Velvet, Amber, Autumn, Umber.