I caught a glimpse of her face.

A page within a book that would never turn.

Eyes engraved in my memory.

The mouth speaking words without movement.

The dark red gulp, an opened requiem.

When I approached her skin she’d turn to sand.

 

She would whisper unwholesome recipes in their ears.

Whispers of dreams that they had strangled.

She felt like crushed ice on a collapsing plant.

She visits the fibres of my skin with one of her fingers.

A fly that never leaves, a harrowing sound that never resigns.

I can count on her to torment me.

Lovis_Corinth_BC_31_Weiblicher_Halbakt_1886_sw

Weiblicher Halbakt” by Lovis Corinth (1858-1925)

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