By: Nate Elias I’ve eaten from the nest, buried bones enough to pick my pale heart’s flesh from the ocean’s coral teeth. What crow corpse weeps without marring a lover in its wings? A harbor night, turbulent foam beneath our…
By: Nate Elias I’ve eaten from the nest, buried bones enough to pick my pale heart’s flesh from the ocean’s coral teeth. What crow corpse weeps without marring a lover in its wings? A harbor night, turbulent foam beneath our…