Tag Archives: Christy Prahl

When you kiss me you get all of me, the face, the mouth, the fingers. You get the years of being broken by love. The irreconcilable ache of this body, alone, the unshackled heave of its engineering, the low notes … Continue reading →

No joy in knowing 3:20 in the morning. Ask the bus driver saddled with third shift; she’ll tell you. The derelict loneliness, the empty seats, the ones and twos who mumble to the themselves indecipherably, possibly, she fears, how to … Continue reading →