After Sylvia Plath The bushes are laden, draw my blood with their thorns. To find sweetness or at least some nourishment, Find sweetness before
After Sylvia Plath The bushes are laden, draw my blood with their thorns. To find sweetness or at least some nourishment, Find sweetness before
for Eve Some people love all the colors, not only the safe ones. Even orange. Scar of rust, shrill neon strobe… The color that
was certainly not to hook a fish, or stain my fingers with the reek of salmon eggs but to fling a line on the