Author S. K. Nicholas

  White wine. Straight from the bottle. Huey Lewis. Hip to Be Square. She digs that, and so do I. Cigarettes. Dead cigarettes. Her body as a sunflower seed. Her belly as a playground for my childish needs. Swimming sperms in tissue paper. Bitemarks on stretchmarks and the sweaty scent of sex that clings to… Read more

  Watch Eraserhead and touch yourself. Eat junk food and sniff the palm of your hand while on the phone to someone you often envision in the nude. You don’t tell them because that would take away the magic, as whenever you speak, your body and mind come together and produce a reaction that exists… Read more

  There’s wind, and there’s rain, and at this particular moment in time, there’s a cigarette with your name on it as the hum of an air conditioning unit that sounds like a choir of junkies doing their best to belt out something by Sinatra roars somewhere below our feet. Taking notes in a small notepad, there’s… Read more

  Words and grease and spit. And nude photographs of the elephant man’s mother. And underwear stolen from the washing line of an ex-lover. You know, the one with those lips I spoke about, the ones that invade my dreams and glisten like the shiny surface of an apple covered in a sweet toffee glaze.… Read more

  The light on your face, and the light on mine. The trees that reach for us and the positions we find ourselves in while drunk and flowered up and ready for something to happen. I miss the feel of your ankles in my hands, and I miss holding your breasts while we spoon in… Read more

  You are gone yet by my side. You rise and rise, and even though by morning you’ll be just another skewed memory, I let you kiss me all the same. In the doorway of some abandoned clothes store, I see you smiling while tapping your feet in quick succession to stop you from getting… Read more

  When she’s feeling poorly, I rub her tummy and call the animals out from the woods at the foot of the garden. Climbing the stairs with their noses in the air, they jump up onto the bed and stay with her until she’s feeling better. It’s that time of the month, you see. When… Read more

  Kisses on your belly and my tongue doing stuff your mother knows all about but won’t ever say. Fingers on your thighs as you lie there speaking of what hurts with no intention of making a change even though you know it’s all down to you and no one else. You can travel far… Read more

  Starless so starless. Wild and thunderous. Those thighs. Those hips. Those bodies that ignite like the pages of a newspaper that drift around the streets of your hometown with no direction in mind until they spark beneath the glare of the sun. Dreams of plucked teeth and fantasies involving brown eyes and apple-like lips… Read more