The rising tide washed up the bodies of past, dead lovers. Some older than others. I pick through their teeth looking for familiar memories and gold plating. There's so little to salvage. The wind smells of nuclear fallout from across the Pacific. The air raid sirens will come soon. The harbinger static in the clouds crowds my pre-burst eardrums. Overpowering the smell of seaweed and funerals.
4:50 p.m. - 2017-10-30
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
Heartdesert - 2018-06-25
Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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