The Awakening by Orlee Andromedae
Glass
by Swan Glass is dried light. What we cannot touch now holds our wine. Yet once caught, a nervous hand, brown grit will shatter it. My words are dried perceptions. What I cannot say now fills the silence. A strained image, a hesitation ... What I give to you is a thing alien to itself. Next Page
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Birth
by Swan Because he swims in her womb, the water she drinks blurs into wine. Gnats land on her skin, black pearls, they buzz like bells and she smiles. He takes her pain. When she grinds wheat, the pestle scrapes his skin raw. Before he enters the world, he memorizes its pain. But each time, the pain falls fresh, an unbitten pear. Each bite startles him. This is my flesh he thinks. He wants to wake, a cool stone tomb, the end, no more, please. |