Colossal Reserva Red
On his gums—the memory of ginger and licorice, cedar and bramble, tobacco and wild. In his throat, the bitterroot vines of his muse.
Versus 14: Spline
His sleep was so sound when the thieves came that he failed to roll from his side. With what they absconded made no difference; whatever went missing was less to carry. The days left his heart restless from wandering rooms, from looking for things he had once required. He wondered even in dreams why he had given himself to strangers for so long. He was heavy with all of the things he had swallowed and could no longer rise from rest with any degree of ease. The constant clatter of harm made him believe that no one knew the nature of a machinist without getting caught up in the gears that only certain of us can know. The bundle of letters bound on the table came apart in a wind that gnawed on a cold bone.
He never heard a thing.
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