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.
from the book Burying the Mountain / Copper Canyon Press
Anna Maria Hong
Red fox, paws planted, staring back on the human path, sprung to the woods sifting autumn's dark rot, annamaya kosha: first beam.
Rachelle Toarmino
there are fresh coats of paint and a world in my mouth! adhesive doubts live in the hairs on my tongue!

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