To her the infant weighed more than the vanished father, a silhouette, larger with each pseudo inhalation—a porcelain doll, its eyes closed.
Rees Sweeten isn’t full of peanut butter. He has a salty, acquired taste.
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by Rees Sweeten
by Rees Sweeten
To her the infant weighed more than the vanished father, a silhouette, larger with each pseudo inhalation—a porcelain doll, its eyes closed.
Rees Sweeten isn’t full of peanut butter. He has a salty, acquired taste.