In the forest, we were standing on graves and eating Metro bought poutine in refills. I looked at Irina, she was bending over with the camera on a grave with twin doves and a Latin smoke carving in marble, mortem blue. I had given her my Minolta camera once I thought I was a bad kisser. The sunlight was fading away at her black skinny jeans from behind. My pussy’s bleeding, she said to me earlier. I offered some more unbled. Cheap black eats everything, even my blood, she said. It was true. I had bled into the same skinny jeans countless times with nothing to show, something I had given her once she said I was a bad kisser. The sun inside her. I was a bit of me wrapped around her perfect legs.



Sunlight was mixing blues inside lack of principles and her breasts were the true soft lines on my apartment wall. I looked at her bare feet as she spoon fed me one triangle of the Jell-O star, bitter orange and almond essence tongue, hers on mine. She was going to spend Memorial Day with me and no shoes with her. She scraped the rust on the floor with her naked and folded her big toe inside her sole. Skin was on skin for moments, feeling the broke roughness of us in each other.



Whole day was a kind of rain that doesn’t stop. A possum with a nasty attitude had broken into our apartment and was holding captive your favorite dinner plate. I showed you my knee bruise later that I had gotten trying to chase the possum away from us and dinner. I’m going to call an Uber, you said, kissing the blue pulp gently. We sniffed gelatin on body parts before swallowing the whole world.



Nooks Krannie is a Palestinian/Persian female writer from Canada. Her work has appeared in Entropy, Eunoia Review, Alien Mouth, The Airgonaut, Fluland and other online and print journals. She tumbls at and instagrams @nookskrannie.

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