“Come into the warmth,
dull your fragile senses
sharpened by the tang of smoke
and rain.Come. I will
wine you and dine you
and trap you
in a misery of glass.”
Do not touch me.
I will dissipate against your arms
and leave you holding bones,
masses of soft hair.
And that’s both a warning
and a threat. It’s a screech,
a snarl,
a half-whispered
whimper of despair.
(and that’s both the snake
and the hunter. I am fear,
or feared, an unforgiven,
unforgiving
tornado of a girl.)
weaknesses …
and there, the hiss
of quiet mist.
The kindest things about a fortress
are all in the foundation.
si prega di non toccarmi,
aiutami,
non toccarmi,
non toccarmi.
