Writing and Blog



The wind turns his hair to coarse, black streamers. His skin is deep gold, and his features are mathematically precise: flat, sweeping planes bisected by sharp cheekbones, the acute angle of his jaw, the perfect arch of his brows.

He stands up on his pedals and  coasts. Though his chest is bare to the first spots of rain, his lashes are heavy and his mouth is red, as if he has put on stage make-up to greet the world.

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