You tell me there’s something you have to tell me, and then instead of telling me you show me, stand in front of me with your back to me, reach down and grab my hands and put them over your breasts, guide the index and middle finger of my left hand just under the fold of your left breast and inhale. “Do you feel it?” you ask.
“A beak,” you say.
Originally published September 22, 2014 in SmokeLong Quarterly, Issue 45.
Read the rest here.
And read the corresponding author interview here.