by Jason Grant The entire king-sized bed is mine now, but I can’t seem to move from the left side to the right because on the nights you were here—laying there—if I dared move from my side to yours in the middle of the night it was like I-was-crossing-some-boundary you-needed…
by John Grey Is it just me or are the summers growing shorter, the winters longer? Have I become nothing more than an inveterate weatherman, disbelieving what the television, newspaper says, believing only . in the forecasts of my flesh, my bones? And I’m being loved shorter, unappreciated longer. And…