KM Bezner
the title of this poem is a sigh hands between thighs the meat of thumbs and palms clutched between buried butterfly wings shuddering, fluttering, pressed to that tender fault line…
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the title of this poem is a sigh hands between thighs the meat of thumbs and palms clutched between buried butterfly wings shuddering, fluttering, pressed to that tender fault line…
Continue ReadingShe Smelled of Strawberries “She tasted of strawberries.” I said in reply. Did she now. He smirked, taking a draught of his cold beer, half-burned cigarette laid gentle on a…
Continue ReadingTwin Week Anxious he had started far too late to make peak condition for Independence week in Provincetown, Kayden began his preparations on January second with a seven-day juice purge…
Continue ReadingWhen the Frog Grows Hairs To her, my sister Santa Pe Slim and pretty Our mother wanted to marry As soon as possible But she didn't want to do. Forced,…
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