The Artichoke

Still I dreamt of her, dipped in lemony butter, scraped carefully with teeth and sucked, the pale cream of flesh ,the tender flour, her skirt held up like a cup, each sip bringing me closer to the moon, the vegetable pearl of her insides where the heart fans out fibrous hairs and waits a last mouthful on her green world.

Nin Andrews ” The Artichoke ”

 

2017-10-18T03:46:43+00:00 December 13th, 2016|0 Comments

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