by Margaret Killjoy
I can’t sleep with you, you know that.” Ulian ran a few fingers up Neh-te’s collarbones as he spoke. Her striped sailor’s shirt, already wide-collared, was stretched open to expose her deeply tanned shoulders.
     “I know,” Neh-te whispered mournfully, “I remember.”
     The bamboo dock beneath them creaked slowly as the waves of low tide splashed against its posts. Behind them, on the mainland, a bamboo windmill beat the time slowly, churning in the ocean-side winds. Continue reading →