by Gay Degani
He tells me my naked back is a harp and flutters his fingers across my scales. I listen for the waterfall, that rolling splash of notes, but only hear the lick of flame. Is it heating flesh that scents the air as he glitters my neck with tiny nips? A libretto of sorts, an elegy, a rap? The grass is orange, the rocks are blue, the sky tends toward Mardi Gras. Brass horns, marimbas, snare drums, cowbells, and rhapsody.
6S
Gay Degani has received nominations and honors for her work including Pushcart consideration and Best Small Fictions. She won the 11th Annual Glass Woman Prize. She's published a full-length collection, Rattle of Want, (Pure Slush Press, 2015) and a suspense novel, What Came Before (Truth Serum Press, 2016). She occasionally blogs at Words in Place.