Our Daughters Are Bedbugs
Who crave warmth against all apathyshare crimson journeys through tunneledbarricades leading to the upper left cornerof my sheeted cheek. I swell when they visit,I turn soup into hard butter for them, ask themto accede, their seedlings will be enough.Never really hatching, only becoming moreand more daughters, they all have the same name.The daughters, like leaves we rack into gutters and side… Read more →