I keep a map of youon the inside of my skin.Here,the curve of my neckwhere your mouth first landedand I understoodwhat hunger meant.Here,my wristwhere your thumb pressedcounting my pulselike you were memorisingthe rhythm of me.Here,my hipwhere your fingers dug inwhen you lost yourselfinside meand...
Read MoreI have been trying to write this poemfor as long as I've known you.Every word feels too small.Every line feels like a lie.But here is the truth:When I say I want you,I mean I want the weight of youpressing me into the mattress.I mean I want the sound you makewhen I find the exact right place....
Read MoreI spent years learning to be alone.Built walls out of goodbyes.Learned the architecture of leavingbefore anyone could leave me first.Then you arrivedand everything I knewbecame useless.Your hands are undoers.They unbutton my defencesunlace my fearsunmake the careful personI spent decades becoming...
Read MoreThere is a mathematics to the wayyou fit against me,the curve of your shoulderfinding the hollow of my chest,the angle of your hipsolving for the space between my thighs.We are a theoremI want to proveagain and again.I have counted the freckles on your backlike constellations.I have traced the li...
Read MoreI have learned you the way hands learn clayfirst hesitant, then certain,then unable to forget.Your throat remembers the shape of my mouth.Your wrists remember the weight of my grip.Your hips remember a rhythmthat has no name in any languageexcept ours.I have watched you sleepand counted the ways ...
Read MoreThe apartment had always felt big enough for two.Eight hundred square feet in a walk-up with no elevator, one bathroom, a kitchen that couldn't accommodate two people cooking at once. They'd made it work for three years, Gary and Darren, best friends, completely platonic, utterly comforta...
Read MoreThe commission came through his agent like everything else—sanitised, professional, stripped of any personal touch.Charity portrait auction. High-profile artist. Three sessions. Sign here.Griffin signed. He always signed. That was his life: signing things, showing up places, being the perso...
Read MoreThe knock came at 2:47 in the morning.Griffin was awake. He was always awake at this hour, had been for two years, ever since the divorce. Sleep was a thing that happened to other people now, people who hadn't spent ten years building a life with someone only to watch it crumble.The knock cam...
Read MoreThe first time they met was at an audition, twenty-two years old, both fresh-faced and desperate and hungry in exactly the same way.Becky had read first. Had nailed it, she thought, the vulnerability, the fire, the thing the casting director was looking for. She'd left the room feeling electr...
Read MoreThe first thing Debbie noticed about her was how small she was.Not small in the way of delicate things, small in the way of things that have been carrying too much for too long. Curled into herself on the tour bus, hidden behind sunglasses and a hoodie and the careful architecture of celebrity, s...
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