(5) Fleabag      Outside in the faint morning light Saint was nowhere to be seen. Riley didn’t bother with the sidewalk, choosing to stomp her way across the grass instead. To what used to be her home. Her mother’s home....

In the beginning,Winter stood over me,a god with iron breath,cold as fuck,asking whether I would kneelor survive. January split my ribs openand called it birth.Blood remembered motion.The year accepted me. February came robed in red,a god who does not bargain.It taught...

Of you and tiny rooms  where dripping taps  curate yearning museums  beside the kitchen sink     Of ellipses...eclipse of rain behind madness,   we rise as sunrise  saluting never-ending noon,  what lies beyond was the moon   underneath blankets, undressing    Of you and travelling in (f)light  literary terrorists aboard fighter...