And your plum arms emerge from the golden and rose-pink folds of your tunics. As in the ancient literary genres.
Beautiful sisters, come high up on to the strongest rocks, we are all warriors, heroines, horsewomen, eyes of innocence
Life become text starting out from my body. I am already text.
The soil of the garden slides between your teeth, your saliva moistens it, you feed m/e with it your tongue in m/y mouth.
What is the relationship between maintenance and freedom? What is the relationship between maintenance and life’s dreams.