by Steven Rydman
more” she says even the crease of her breast
still swallows all of it thighs ache for a wooden spoon
or a mouth full of glass puts a pearl between his lips
as if he could steal a shudder or taste the sea
mixed with her spit forever “tonight I’ll bite
my lip, make blood glow, scream no
This article appears in Jul 25-31, 2001.
