I like the slow build-up of warmth, he said, the creeping anticipation of the lengthening days and strengthening sun and—
Terrence had never been one to just suck a lollipop. No sooner had he popped it in his mouth than his teeth were clamping down, chipping shards as sharp as glass.
I use my fingers, letting the white slip down into the bowl, leaving the glistening golden globes one at a time cradled in my hand. So easily done—what once was whole has now been twain.
All the love I’ve experienced
Has felt like pain
Like a bolt of lightning
Through a warm spring rain
Somewhere in the dusk a bird begins its goodnight song, the tune more mournful now, more wistful now. What does he know?