There's crescent moons under his eyes and sleepy hollows in his cheekbones. Nobody ever wore emaciated the way he did, skin hanging from his frame like 2014's furs. Forget Halloween parties - I was head underwater at his very throat, neck deep in Adam's apples. Peek-a-boo ribs playing dam to his darkly violent blood that flows in currents around my star-strickenness.
Newspapers have nothing on the editions of his expressions

and the dirt underneath those fingernails is sufficient for harvesting a future family of four.


A naked body mummified in yellow caution tape...


um, what's the word for people who are sexually invested in criminals?

I think I should leave now.