something like adultery something like a tire fire big hands the shape and scope of god blistering your body something new the shock of a forgotten step the deleted files flooding your cortext full frontal something splayed all your beetle wings and legs pinned back to a headboard under some hobbyist’s focused lightning something like a smoke alarm something like death in the bedroom something my worst friends whisper about when we’re alone and drunk something we say about the new gods we worship in secret something like idolatry like finding salvation in the secret itself.
ANDREW KETCHAM writes about love. He is thirty and single. His work has appeared or is set to appear in A Great Gay Book, HAD, Hobart, the New Orleans Review, Passages North, Protean, and elsewhere. He tweets @islafissure.
Artwork/photographs by REBECCA PYLE have appeared in Watershed Review, TINT, JuxtaProse, West Trestle Review, Banyan Review, Gris-Gris, Kleksograph, New England Review, and in many others. Rebecca Pyle is also a creative writer. Find her at rebeccapyleartist.com.
