Tonight, laying in our bed - feet beached in sheets, salt beads on our brows, salt beads on our cheeks - the thought again about leaving. It was fleeting, like the lighthouse beam that plays across the headland, plays across the bay. The beam that threads the walls of this charmed room is a silken … Continue reading A Thimble.
i rested on the handle of my spade and smoked. i witnessed a congregation of privet, solemn hemmed and so cuffed with berries that even the herring birds, oddly black against the cloud, eschewed with cackles and coughs and with caution; such is tumbling rubbish on a breeze. i worked a thread of wet tobacco from my tongue to … Continue reading the bitter taste of almost breathing
coddled on the northeast coast as an autumn guest, we sweated a weekend out between her sheets until, the colour of almost - boiled albumen, i became. haltwhistle©reeves2019
nickreeves 