1. Crocuses, irises, hyacinths, crushes olives, golden honey, and wine. Hips, hands,shoulder blades. Distant torches and distant shouts. Running, running, running into the dark.
2. His warm, chapped lips skin over her pulse and in the name of every deathless god, she is hungry.
3. Only if you wish, he says. I would never try to bind you down here. She gazes at him. The fire in her eyes is a burnished red, like her mother’s spring damp roses. Of course,she says, and pulls out her carving knife to slice the fruit open. — Keaton St. James 🖤