WherewithalOnce I met a girl who carved the world flat just to tell me I was beautiful.It went without warning, in the morning when we left our sheets and searched for a bed of leaves beneath my mother's apple-tree; I settled crooked as she leaned against my side, and even as my muscles cramped I wouldn't shift her burden from my shoulders even to walk a free girl again. I was the real Atlas, the true one so willing as to ask to bear the weight of the world on her back for all of time, and you wouldn't know it to look at a ghost like me.August, I said to her, and when I waited for her calling voice to come back I couldn't stop thinking about the way
Sweet Cream and AcetyleneYou were two parts of the same thingOne part sweet creamAnd one half liquid acetyleneYou nervously strode upon the deckOf a whitewashed shipIn London NeckI asked you to sit, be quiet, or knitYou flamed and retortedI should have accorded You the pleasure of having a fitYour drama is archaicYou exhume prosaicDalliance and effusionIn beauteous confusionO save me! you criedAs wine stained your dressYou gnashed and worriedTill your tresses were meshedBack in the cabinYou said you were satedAfter nine shots of absintheAnd three pints of raicilla*You don't know the difference Between courtesy and collusion Your prim-ros
maybe she's too youngAstrid smelled of plums. It was a gentle scent, emanating wisps of invigorating pleasure. She smelled glorious, mouthwatering, delicate. I couldn't resist such an aroma.She looked so frail. She had skin stretched across her limbs in flimsy, translucent layers. I was terrified of touching her, afraid she'd crumple beneath my fingers.Her lithe, bird bone fingers caressed my blistered calluses. Astrid then pressed her icy palms to my aching flesh. Silly girl, she was trying to comfort me.It was wrong. I felt bloated, my chest inflated with conflic
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: JudgeNotNovels, Kneeling-Glory & HerSoftestSoul!
Sta.sh
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