Come forth, old lion, from thy den,
Come, be the gaze of idle men,
Old lion, shake thy mane and growl,
Or they will take thee for an owl.
Come forth, old lion, from thy den,
Come, be the gaze of idle men,
Old lion, shake thy mane and growl,
Or they will take thee for an owl.
“I wonder if they have the memories we do: sleepwake, working on our tans, ribbons of flesh twirling, long isabelline bus rides of dusk, necks of tulle, promises made on hands and knees, wet grass, actual heartache or actual love. Or the likeness of love, the shadow aspect. O, a medley of skin trying to find an answer. If they want you to be a tulip, you will be a tulip, no matter your shape. You will always ever be a tulip, a black one, a wilted thing, a tulip by the sea, the character of a tulip. You will be the seedling unsprung.”
Lisa Marie Basile | Nympholepsy