I frog-kick closer, desperate to recapture what has been lost.
I knew this was one of those micro-moments in a marriage when it pays to take a breath.
Sound like flesh warms the back of our necks, fills that space between vertebrae and skull.
Privilege and racism are real, and not just in South Africa.
I wonder about the half-advertent suicides. About a person who writes about a wing in the sky.
