The Smell of Fuzz
but I'm not Billie Jean King
Hiss, pop, inhale, sigh
breathe in canned neon green fuzz--
I don't play tennis.
About the Creator
Sara Little
Writer and high school English teacher seeking to empower and inspire young creatives, especially of the LGBTQIA+ community
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More stories from Sara Little and writers in Poets and other communities.
lift
rustle, flourish, draft upward surge from tin rooftop one beat more and...flight
By Sara Littleabout 19 hours ago in Poets
Killing him slowly
There’s an intruder in my house again. He stumbles through the door, wet carrier bags in hand. He’s bought me offerings. I show my appreciation, letting him caress my beautiful body. He wants to touch me. I rub myself against his legs. He sighs, dropping the bags. He can’t resist touching me. Running his hand slowly down my spine, I arch my back towards his caress, let out a low purr. It’s what we both need.
By N J Delmas3 days ago in Horror
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