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Tag Archives: Laurie Byro
There is a limit to being needed. I’ve been slipped in and out of a waistcoat, a lover in honeymoon sheets, only reliable if my tip is fondled. I am important only if I function in the tick-tock beat of … Continue reading
I thought that birds were Gods, small like me— but confident in what they knew they could do. I never wanted to be a dusty home-cawing rook. You asked me once which one I could become. You had in mind … Continue reading
I like to talk. I contemplate while I talk and people say I sleep-talk. I like the appealing collar, the lace around the sleeve. I love epaulets. I like the little details. Once, while I was about to climax (in … Continue reading
While growing summer days, I picked the roundest pumpkins, just in case, and I begged the cat not to chew the black and tan piebalds since they make the swiftest horses. Still the rose bush that pricked my finger sent … Continue reading