At night I reach for you, but you're not there. I wait, hear heels that tap across the floor. It must, most certain be a trap, a snare, Cruel trick, the phantom step beyond the door. In breathless trepidation do I wait For you, just you, no'ne else but you will do. “I do,” the words I've spoken much too late To bind our troth and make our life anew. Dear Kate, I beg, please come to me again. With heaving bosom, dance with me a turn. Such perfect grace together we attain That even Rose, her favor we might earn. Alas, I wish that this were but a dream, In fact, I fear it's all that it doth seem.
Writing fiction since 2015 with three fiction projects in progress. A novel about three generations of a San Francisco family and two books of linked short stories. One explores the story of a PhD candidate who is on the autistic spectrum, the other is a trauma narrative modeled on Taming of the Shrew.
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