by Chelsea Allen   The piano riff you play, mama, twists my insides into grievous knots, but ears pressed to the soft, tickling grass, I am, as ever, immovable. The clouds are from a Monet painting, despite you, so are the water lilies. So am I. But… Read on blog or Reader The Citron Review Read on blog or Reader L'usurpateur By The Citron Review on July 1, 2024 by Chelsea Allen   The piano riff you play, mama, twists my insides into grievous knots, but ears pressed to the soft, tickling grass, I am, as ever, immovable. The clouds are from a Monet painting, despite you, so are the water lilies. So am I. But today, in a disparate act, you don't free […] Continue reading Comment Like You can also reply to this email to leave a comment.

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