Claire Albrecht

red eyes, silver horses I have to leaveagainTonight, thoughSmuggling truffles out of you by the mouthfulI hold a fist inside my curveAn interrupted gesture ofgoodbyeOut dirt windows black sand might be inkbrushing into mangrovesK uses an old man handkerchiefbut manages to keep her coolA few Naproxens and a lie downI am too tired to remember… Continue reading Claire Albrecht