There’s a subconscious genius etched in the curve of your shoulder blade. (Polyphemus spitting, weeping, cursing to the sky.) Blood is blossoming from your bones and you are opulent in the husky periwinkle night. (Watch as Achilles drags a body through the mud.) Would you do the same? I watch the way you grasp flowers, I watch the way you bend over your heart and twist yourself back into shape. (Aphrodite was wrong this time.)
Comments
Log in or register to post comments.