Elizabeth Agans: The Rhythm of Things

  The Rhythm of Things   The cypress trees in Italy are slow metronomes keeping time with the wind—reaching for the hand of a new lover, always retreating back to proper posture. Backward steps. Repeat.   Two weeks—travelers tattooed by different guns, with the...

Elizabeth Agans: New Perfume

  New Perfume   I can feel the pinch of the stiletto patent leather black shining, bouncing the light from streetlamps into shapes— each step melting. Sultry. Cigarette smoke sexy, nobody minds the plume. The tapping of heels on dark, squared sidewalks— Rome at...

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