I’m trying to make myself let you go before Ms. Mary comes to get you, but you go and shiver at my touch and weaken my resolve to stop holding you.
Acapulco in the sunset seems like a balm; it enters the blood like a drug after one inhalation of the scent of flowers, one glimpse of the bay iridescent like silk, the sunset like the inside of a shell, so much like the flesh of Venus.