Postcard #1 from a Gondola
Dear Jack-Be-Nimble, The sky is a particular gray-blue today, and it makes me think of you. Your slate eyes. Venice is, well, all masks and gondolas; I love and need it as I do my own internal organs that I picture crammed to fatal dimensions from a corset as if I were some courtesan fleeing [...]
Also tagged Jenny Benjamin-Smith, prose