I suspect our molecules exchange confidences during the night. They are in cahoots, by which I mean they refuse to respect the skin's natural boundary and instead capitalize on its permeability; atoms going here and there.
Sometimes it worries me that I am rearranged regularly by the secret motion of molecules hell-bent on making something of us, filling out our meanings, and forging the subatomic shape of tenderness under the sheets.
Saturday 24 June 2023
Debut Flash: 'Conspiracy during Marriage ' by Judith Lysaker
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