• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 08

I gather white flowers

She holds my heart
two mouths
crawling the Medusa legs
us pale girls

virulence being told
is our blood and bones.

A dead body cannot turn
a heart; but your words

If I let them
trace onto my maddening hands
like a bush
like a black cancer
from the yew tree.

Us pale girls
know love in each other.

If the sun is a whore
into the death
let her be; I am smoke and dead,
I am at once who I am
my love is my snow child
only to grow

I am not what you thought
shame for you, not for me.
I am the doom through your blood,
But I’m free.