If I were brave, I’d say, You were preparing to leave, weren’t you? But that was not in my mind when his body grew large, and he made himself small, almost an infant in my arms.
By Yemọja Jade3 years ago in Poets
She’s limp on his body, this moment in a Death-smeared home - an embrace - though I’ve come to love the exchange of bodies.
And yet again, I am seated here, a palace for bodies upon pine needles. The blind seer, crowned, sitting down in chains. Mysterious visitor, whomever he might be.