Ida Harris


White Towel

By darkness, I lay. Supine with pupils speed reading, studying. This space, whose air has failed. The quality of life reeks spoil, stale. Still mine enemy lies beside me, wanting. He too belly up, breathing shallow, forcing a tempered pulse, a cool temper and muffled love. By sun, warlocked, it's on. Readied I am, to draw pain up from the root, gut

[Report Error]