bottle of red.

by saracrolick

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the neighborhood shifts with a man, tested, as his partner wades her way through moments of celestial bargaining—the should-haves stacking higher than a breathing malbec, higher than a set of strong shoulders, higher than the lofty ideas being sent to mother moon.

tonight she witnessed the rough edges of just-one-of-those-days pierce the tender flesh of lovers’ hearts—a thunderclap of the universe’s most spine-strengthening temperatures.

this post was grown on the gram

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