Ogre's Burrito Parcelled in linen, a crack of smudged eye opens. Under-sheet in a claustrophobe, arms pinned, I am an ogre’s burrito. A salt-sweat salsa of the nights inappropriate dreaming stains me, soaks the bedding. Sour. I can smell myself – I feel basted, the musk of arousal as I split my welded legs apart. … Continue reading ‘Ogre’s Burrito’ by Jane Burn