Somedays mary had eyes like balled up fists in to small pockets that would never ever close when we kissed and other days they glowed like punters of cheap absinthe and rolled whenever she saw me, saw me widdled down to a skeleton and remnants of her lipstick eyes that looked down on me while I sank into the ocean of fabrics separating us And most days her mouth tasted a lot like Doritos and cough syrup but I remember one the ocean breeze staining her spit with salt, salt and Marlboro reds... read more
