A woman’s yearning is a zigzaging, chevron patterned perseverance toward the heart. The heart is an empty house at 2101 Vessel Street. The weaker vessel holds the gold as it cools, fusing with the shine. A woman’s desire is expensive. It will cost her the old linen song in her heart. Curtains cover windows to avenues of guilt. I walk into the prehaunted house, see my ancestors stitching samplers for Envy, who wears black sequins and little else. What temperature is your temperament?
Miniature Moon 