Adam O. Davis
Goodnight—Mary, Jane, Pat. Sleep tight, you sweet operators of America, your voices strung like laundry across this nation drowsy with a full century's worth of light.
from the book Index of Haunted Houses / Sarabande Books
Katie Farris
Once, many years ago, we made love at a friend’s house. We were over- night guests, not perverts (on the whole) . . .
Shangyang Fang
Her cardamom-like nipples bloomed in the mahogany frame of the mirror. She felt at ease. Perhaps she thought I was still too young? That I was more of a boy than a man? Or perhaps she saw that day, by the rosemary alley, a boy kissing my lips. He tasted like blueberries.

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