the taste of persimmon after the frost its sugar clinging to my yearning lips born of a precious seed once be’lieved lost concealed within a field of rosen hips a musky perfume hangs upon the air arisen from a garden doused in dew the tender tended fruit does swell and flare as the silken petals…
Tag: Dating
Old Wounds Pt. 1
I met her on a dating app, finally reserved to seeking conversation in place of sex. The tedious, critical process of selectively swiping on potential partners reduced to a mindless exercise, apathetically thumbing through profiles while never glancing down at the screen. This had become habitual, more impulse than directed action. Running out of potential…
Piecework Prose 