Tag: Matty Layne Glasgow

Famished, he did not understand hungeruntil it fueled a metamorphosis. An animal does what he does. A boy, thin and lithe,grows with each taste: his mother’s milk, a crabapple pawed from its branch. Later,a man’s tongue. Come spring, fur meadows his once-pink skin, hangs loose from a belly,from fragile limbs. Soft, love can leave one…