My mistress seamstress stretches skin across the spindles of her womb. She darns the wounds of loneliness with spools of thick black thread. Now hidden in a darkened paradise, embroiled with Death’s perfume, I fear my mistress seamstress, so tired of weaving on her loom, will rip me from the abyss, as quickly as I was entombed.
Bosley Gravel, eclectic hack writer, was born in the Midwest, and came of age in Texas and southern New Mexico. He writes in a variety of genres. His fiction focuses on the absurdly tragic, and the tragically absurd. He likes good black coffee, nightmares, Billie Holiday, and that hour just before the sun comes up. Amazon KDP 99 ¢ reads!