The Trouble with Creation
Garden, pond, man, woman, worm in the tequila, salt licked from the back of his hand, lemon squeezed between bountiful thighs, sunshine on the tongue, moonlight on the water— Come on in, the water's fine— smoke in the belly, apple in her eyes, oh, forbidden script, turn out the lights, pour us another drink, have some pie. Meg Kearney