Alexandra Corrin-Tachibana·PoetryThe Fifth Season Now it’s tsuyu, the stifling June rain. Your hands are making me hot and we feel relentless. Rancid, my buttery foreignness. You hover, a mosquito in a love-stained room. I smell the rotting tatami. Of interest...the Corradini Adonis is missing its AphroditeOde to mobility-buggy ridersdrive outThe Day We Never Met