But now, I not only wanted to break my pencil and throw out what I’d written, I was dying to take him to bed.
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As the effects get stranger—rust-red mold on the pavements like a carpet, sweat permanently congealed on my skin, finding that a street ends in a chasm or sinisterly iridescent lake—I’m ...
D’Ora with her coffee tries to focus and listen and care, but in a quick minute her mind goes to Phil. It’s been doing that a lot lately. ...
The way she smiled at him nearly made me jealous. Even though I didn’t know who she was, yet I was beginning to feel jealous.
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Name, shame, secrete, wash, wipe clean, wring dry, sanitize. What I can’t expunge, I conceal. I blur and disguise.
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There’s a sense of release about writing this Editor’s Letter because it means the final piece of the jigsaw puzzle is now in place. It means our hard work of ...
Desire is complicated in that as much as it burns inside of you and demands an outlet as is it born of heart, of love, of wanting something that is ...
. I didn’t want to be a victim to my desire, to the legacies of white supremacy and internalized homophobia. I didn’t want to be so susceptible to the beauty ...
We all know how she got here. Want. Desire. All the poor little mermaid’s ever wanted is legs, to split open like a lazy mollusk revealing its tender bits
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The two men who approached us in Grand Central must have smelled it on us––the tension of coming apart.
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