Twas 4 am when young Toothie Smiles creaked open sticky eyelids, sweating and cold and pasta. In a corner of the crooked room, smooched betweenamirror and adoor, leaning into the crack, propped a blood ruby demon in a loincloth.
When it’s late at night I like to check on the house and fly over open floorplans 50 feet beelow, beelow my blood. I float like a feathered finger inching to a further. Clouding my hair full of soft bones. I finch tight with secret smiles b a t h i n g in navy.