tunneling back worm, mole, me what did he say? then—that one perfect moment trapped in the amber of imminent joy convoluted phrases seemingly clear as they fell from his lips ambient warmth, veering to love while I, inebriated worm, lolled in dumb damp bliss. wombed by his words entombed, I felt lights pulse. see, saw, see them there yes, but am I not blind? fetal … Continue reading Gaslight by Liz Duff Young