you HAVE to let me do the medieval pink pony club lip sync, I already called dibs!

wrens eat the lizards eat the wrens

delicious relief of falling into bed with your childhood love in adulthood

she sleeps inside the painting, dropping from the ceiling in a haze of brown butterflies

tears for a mourning dove

a frog hops the streets of paris

origin story: the father spooned powdered lightning into her drink and she gagged a bit down, kept drinking, she’s sitting at the head of the table in an apartment in a high rise the floor to ceiling window behind her looking out over the city

I’ve lost the details of the fight by now but these feel less important compared to the shifting of limbs and roped muscles into machines