Sip, mon amour, her emerald lips whisper,taste the moon dissolved in my tongue.The glass tilts—a slow, seductive shiver,as absinthe drips, thick and young.Ah, cette fee... she coils ‘round my spine,her breath—licorice, fire, and rue.The spoon’s silver teeth leave sugar...

It’s Christmas Eve, and we’re at the house she grew up in, after driving hours from campus where we met. She was a bright eyed freshman, and I a clumsy teaching assistant.She knew I’d be alone for the holiday,...

...burning the old sod down.Watching the embers crawllike slow drunken lordsacross the blackening field.A proper British bonfire, that—whilst I piss on the roses. And God saved the hedgehogwho mistook my pyrefor some pagan ritual—Like Sunday roast gone Methodist,with pamphlets for...