He is very old. Wrinkles like canyons, deep enough to stick my arm up to my elbow. Nose hairs protruding, white like icicles. I’ve seen him from afar many times over. He is always on the left side of the casket, his right ear best for hearing. Every funeral he mumbles to his sons, they … Continue reading Measuring Mortician
mortician
Touch of Death
Horatio fluttered his fingers down my ribs, tickling his way to my hip. I hid a smile. How long could I pretend to sleep, letting him intimately flirt his way around my body? Until morning light? A caress on my neck, up to roam through my hair. Sliding down the opposite arm, all the way … Continue reading Touch of Death
Jessica Balko 