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.. she’s a toddler in a tiara, a brand-new-almost-grown-up storm. all hormones and horns, sweet and spicy t(r)ying on masks and lies. she de -spises me today, her mama, just a little perhaps, or a lot. which probably means I … Continue reading
Oh, but she’s a storm. The sky’s got a new slant, curl of cloud and scattered song. The syllables of her name are fleeting, sleeting, bleeding ink and drinking in the stone -washed bruises of another dawn. .. Prompted … Continue reading