Explore

It’s like his bottom half is not man but a strong horse.

There isn’t a nice Jewish boy in sight—not that I’m looking for one.

I make a point of smelling the lilac every day that first week in May.

No one was awake and I was hungover young as clean as a piano.

You and the cat wish I were baking pumpkin pie and we were happier.

Her mother singing out the window at trucks slamming the other way.

You slouched on the couch, naked, in front of the air conditioner.