We rub past each other like two bolts of satin. Innocence is not a horizontally wid-en-ing eye. I lower mine behind Chinese fans transparent as rice paper. Yours pierce like slivers of cut and dried bamboo. We smile then slowly slide away like skiffs upon the Li...
Sketch: Vol. 47
, Article 6.
Available at: https://lib.dr.iastate.edu/sketch/vol47/iss2/6