Charlie Byrd

The night the paintings opened, we
were young again,
outside the lines and still wet. Your feet
left blue on the marble floor when you
came over with your guitar and
gave me a lopsided wink. I finally
put down that goddamned hairbrush and
shook out my curls, smears of carmine
sliding on your skin like the heart
your artist had decided
was broken. We
were hungry, so
ducking between the sprinkler systems
and the flames, we
stole some of Cézanne’s peaches and
ran out to tell a new story.


Charlie Byrd is a changeling posing as a tech-support geek. He lives in San Francisco with the world’s most personable cat and a rotating assortment of friends. Charlie writes speculative fiction and poetry with a fae slant, and can be found on Twitter @shadow_bird.

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