There was a flame, radiating countless lights, countless flickering sparks. She danced, leapt, and swayed without hesitation; She was...

Oyster, raw, alive. Plump, sweet, briny, carrying the faint musk of seawater, rich as cream. Between the lips and teeth—passion, sensuality, texture. Placed on the tongue, it slides in. Cold, silken. The instant the tongue touches it, the teeth close gently, tenderly chewing. Its savor floods the mouth, and finally it is swallowed, absorbed into the body. Smooth, yielding, without resistance. That act of swallowing: desire upon desire, the moment of climax. To savor an oyster

Once upon a time, in the green hills of northern Colombia, near a small, sleepy coffee town called Minca, there lived a toad. Unlike the others in his family, who could stretch their lives to five, even ten years, this toad’s life was brief and painful. Only a few months. He laid eggs obsessively, not out of joy or pure instinct, but because giving himself away was the only way he knew to feel useful. Alive. On a rainy night, with thunder murmuring in the distance, the toad s

Ever since I was little, I’ve known I was a fairy. I loved whimsical worlds. I loved dancing with the wind. I loved molding mud with my hands. I loved leaping barefoot across hillsides. I loved resting my head against the trunks of trees. I loved drawing on my own skin. I loved feeling insects crawl slowly across my palms. I loved cutting my hair however I wished, and weaving leaves into it. I was a wandering fairy, drifting wherever the wind led me, chasing after glimmers of