June, an overripe plum
squished inside a hand Juice licks my pinkie while the sun reheats my skin. Dirt & sweat mercury my forehead. A blue rocking horse watches with one eye. Plum in palm, I charge forward. The wet bomb bursts against his head. I leave the shrapnel. I’ve licked my pulp & skin peels before; they never taste blue. ... Published in giallo
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