French toast at noon.
A dyke astrophysicist’s dream
That’s my actual tongue circa 2014 in the photo. I thrive on bad choices.
Rose petal tea isn’t pink.
Rain: translucent, crystallized youth on sticky, tender lips.
What does it take…?
Goodbye, future once so bright
and other TFB lyrics.
Sappho’s makeup, alcoholism, selfies, and my mom–in that order.
Write one song for me.
I licked the sweat off her Italian skin.
Like the track marks on our embroiled, addict hearts…