A full-throated woman coming
"The serpent once breathed into me, it coiled & coiled, almost throat deep." You see, life is bearable in metaphors. In allusions enamelled with ambiguity. I see you and I see me. I see the depth of ocean between us. I tear my breasts apart, one is infallibly human, the other is a woman. You could never wrap yourself up into my bosom, into my fantastical mystique that I sprinkle like sighs on jet black evenings. You could never understand me, for you have to disrobe yourself almost abstractedly. On most days, as the sun's flesh trigger my skin cells, my thighs are almost in air. I spun stories like silken webs and more often than not, they gobble me up. There is no me, me left figuratively. For how could you ever understand me, I am fed on unknown symbolisms, yours are starkly different isn't it? Tomorrow, my dear, if I would be gone, I wouldn't even be a memory. Because memory, in its essence, is a full-throated woman coming.
