Hard Truth Surrounded by Dark Chocolate is Better for the Throat
by Shannon P. Laws
Paper picks up marbled paint
skims the dream I left under
a tree overnight in the yard
Wet blades of grass are your hair and my head trying to connect
A wire through the two of us relays less than
a pair of cups and knotted string
Black braided rope hangs from the ear
If only you had said yes to dinner
