(summer is fiendish and life is a curse, I said in my heart)
Melinda Smith / Poetry

(summer is fiendish and life is a curse, I said in my heart)

It was a cold summer that year. What I remember is the chill on my skin as you stripped me in fiendish haste, the raw southerly swelling and parting the curtains of the rented room. Now, when life begins to leave itself why is it this figment that clings? Such a light thing, and yet … Continue reading