| Five Senses |
| By Lana Chang |
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Ahem. |
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Touch: The first ragged sharp caress, pregnant with change, the destruction of worlds. |
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Hear: Rumbling like motorcycles and machines - where are the lions and bears? |
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Smell: Sharp sawdust, like Dad's shirt (Mom's telling off crazy shepherds, baby's asleep in the hay). |
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See: Our room, brimming with life built on death, primitive hearth-comfort of modern tv. |
Taste: But what do I care about dying gods and broken branches? I taste your flesh, fluttering feathers, loosening thighs.
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List all stories
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