Who are you that the whole world’s song
Is shaken out beneath your feet
Leaving you comfortless,
Who, that, as wheat
Is garnered, gather in
The blades of man’s sin
And bear that sheaf?
Lady of wrong and grief,
Blameless!
“Luciana and I spread boundless, oceans of braided wildwood. I said our adventure and she yes, brought things that said she wanted to agree. A patterned dress, a pound of sliced meat, a thin bra that turned her the pearlescence of a shell. We slipped into the hive some lustrous word, carving wooden houses, translating each other into texture and light.”
Alyssa Morhardt-Goldstein | Nympholepsy