Real at 2 a.m.

I like to be awake alone at night. Perhaps it’s a preference inherited from my mother. Can preferences be inherent? Any smarty-pants reading this post, feel free to comment the answer below; however I do know the answer to the broader question unasked. So, maybe don’t bother commenting because you’ll probably just piss me off. You

Humpback

She carries crosses; they hang ’round her neck, one for each love spurned– gold plated contempt,  as heavy as death. Ev’ry morning she wakes, a wake service, she weeps. The burden twists her spine. She was beautiful, once. They’d all thought so.

Love: it’s a pisser

Mr. and Mrs. Dishonest

“I have to hang up now. My husband is home.” Her husband had not come home early. In fact, he didn’t even come home on time that night. While his wife spent her lonely hours wondering why she had lied to a man and cried for a man whom she’d never even touched, Mr. drank

One Man’s Folly

He fell in love with me for one night, just–the second to last Saturday in August; his other guests were all too high to judge. He kissed me openly, open mouthed, my starlit lover. Yes, French kisses in presence of the Archer, divine; his human lips wet with wine, and my tongue, the taste of

His Oath Fulfilled

He is a liar. “Now that I know you,” the Scorpion had sworn, “I can never unknow you. Should you ever leave me lonely, I promise I will not live.” But he is still breathing, five thousand miles away, brooding beneath the rolling grey skies that belong to my darling seaside city. I often imagine his