Daffni Gingerich


There’s bartenders and Jack n Gin-gers. There’s talks of ladies in leggings and whether or not she’s wearing any underwear. Ice cubes crackle from the fire in our souls. There’s the memories of friends that introduced us and a jukebox playing I put a spell on you. I sing and pull him in, but all he can do is focus on what to play next. With my back against the wall, I plan an entire stage routine in my head. But he becomes he becomes a ghost and then conversations with the bartender on how much she enjoys wounds. How blood used to sicken her and how it just isn’t that way anymore. We talk about college courses and Grays Anatomy. She dreams of human dismemberment while I dream of having a burial for the cow eyes that hold an image of the universe. We’d sing something cosmic in honor…

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