Poetry

“After Two Months” by Kris Bigalk

I dreamed myself blind in a burned-black room the curtains blowing the scents of autumn’s end— caramel smoke, with an edge of chill, of rain, of endings, and then sweet softness your gentle bearded cheek sliding alongside my body until your mustache rested on my upper lip and the cool mint of your tongue slid… Continue reading “After Two Months” by Kris Bigalk