Imagine by Steven Allan

POETRY

Squeamish by Jai Chakrabarti
I didn’t tire of your bare back-
bone or your tongue coming and coming.

Bruised Stars by Panika M. C. Dillon
I want to bend
into windows, into you

The Only Substance Abuse Problem I Have is You by Panika M. C. Dillon
You place dynamite before the hazard
icon of my tongue; sirens blare through

Arse Poetica by John Rodriguez
When she finally walks away from you
a small part of you, romantic but trifling, enjoys it.

Long Distance Romance by Lauren Wheeler
"That's just it. You don't move fast enough
to be a New Yorker." I couldn't disagree with him,

Dozens in Union Square by Kevin Coval
a mad-hatted big nosed, jewish
George Clinton squeals into night,

Nothing Dreaming by Peggy Landsman
We aren't holding hands exactly,
Only our fingertips touch.

Grace Me by Patricia Smith
nestled like the last puzzle piece in my mouth,
interrupting the O you incite. To verb I love you

Depression, too, is a kind of fire by Taylor Mali
And maybe I’m an idiot for thinking I could have saved her—
call me her knight in shattered armor—

FICTION

Don’t Look Back in Anger by Amanda Nazario
The woman’s feet are hooked under the stool. She still has her hand on her shoulder. The pad of her middle finger moves slowly back and forth over the scratch, which is about the length of a lotto pencil.

Another Night by Lisa Marie Kelleher
Carmella comes in here nearly every night, after some disastrous date or another.  Every story she tells begins with a man.  Each night there’s a new one, although once in a while, a guy will last a week or two.  During that time, I hardly see her.  Mostly, they last one night, and sometimes not even that long.

Find more "Love" on Spindle.

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