She hoped to feel guilt at the attractive young man eyeing her artfully exposed flesh, eyes cast to capture her while casually chatting with his partner. But the curve of her breast was created by pride, a burgeoning of vanity. So rather than drawing the blue polka dot material to cover her lust, she caught his gaze and smiled, one eyebrow slightly raised to challenge his dedication to fidelity. […]
I only watch TV when I’m folding laundry, a product of my Very Busy Life, a product of my knowledge that I’ll die without having spent very many moments living. This is where I make piercing observations about the difference between a stain — something left behind, tomato climbing woven fibers –and something bleached, altered fundamentally and irreversibly, warm flush drained from its well-worn face. This is where I […]
Melancholy Hyperbole 