This trail of fingerprints is simply browsing. Palm pressed to the hollow of your spine before you step out of the moment, leave this touch behind you in that second where electric ran your length and cracked between your ribs as something begins burning.
I’ve combined by love of sketching and poetry to make some poem postcards for ‘The Muse Spits Blood’. They turned out rather nicely, so I think I might have to make some more postcards for the other quadrilles I have written over the past few years.
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