Lindsey putting pieces of her ex husband back together in the other room, bits if electricity running through Jana's body, her, draping herself carefully into the bathwater, the room smelling like eucalyptuses, damp like after a rain. Emerging, she embalms herself in a full flannel pajama set and sprawls across my bed, whittling a series of thoughts together.
Jeannie, is plugged into a wall, attached to a devise sucking her breastmilk from her very soul, reading facts about Alaska, about caribou, discussing the size of her belly after children. She sits there with her soft skin exposed, her long dark poneytail climbing over her collarbone down past her boob.
Maybe it is not Homer that I love but the people who came here with me
chelsea. how do you even write this good. seriously, i read these and just want to cry for no reason. i love love these.
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