This Bridge Called My Back – Tamara Fricke

Mahogany skin lends itself, naturally, to scaffolding and furniture alike, crafting exquisite sculptures pale hands envy and caress, asking cinnamon’s warm russets to wipe snotty noses and dust behind the golden fabric-ed recliner, left fetishized and unused in the corner. Scabbards, every colored womb, that bridge yesterday’s hatred with tomorrow’s subjugation, deny a solitary fact— … Continue reading This Bridge Called My Back – Tamara Fricke