Monday, March 14, 2011


She moved the lantern into the corner where it burned, now yellow, now blue, and she lay inclined on the floor, resting her head on the rim of the wooden crate. The side of her face went dark, only the white of her throat glowed. When I lay down by her, her hands came up soft and warm touching my face like she wanted to feel the remains of the smallpox scourge. I held still, forgetting myself.  Warm, fragrant heat clung to her skin. The curve of her throat sloped into the valley of her shoulder. Wind came sweeping through the door, the air infused with a tinge of wet moss. Her curved back, hollowed to kiss the fingertips. Patches of light on her feverish skin, white worms writhing in the sky. From the corner, the lantern’s flame sputtered and dimmed.

Excerpt from FLESH, forthcoming novel from Black Heron Press © 2011

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