American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Excerpt · Language Driven Poetry · Passage · Poetry

Richard Jackson

I have imagined you beginning this by candlelight, so I have let the rain scribble itself across your window, written how your flesh seems to breathe like the petals of a flower, how my fingers trace the shallow pockets behind your knees, because, in truth, these lines could lead us anywhere. — Richard Jackson, from… Continue reading Richard Jackson

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