There's a song in your lung and a dream in your eye. (Perse)

[perse]

i wanted pomegranates— i wanted darkness— i wanted him. Why? she asks, and Perse has a thousand reasons but lacks the articulacy for them. Why - because He is all she knows, because He is a memory in the way the time before was not, He was there, vibrant and larger than life, smelling of smoke and blood, taking her apart. Why - because He did things to her that should have broken her, should have left her sobbing and begging him to stop, but the wires in her mind are crossed, misfired, and instead within the pain was a pleasure so rich and sordid she still cannot think of it overmuch without shivering. Why - because He is a god, because she is terrified of what might happen if she did not. But these are strange, private things that are odd to confess to a stranger (even if her lips knows the mare’s skin, and she wonders what this is, what they are, a cracked mare and a silver one, entwined). So instead she breathes in, says, “He is my god, and we must love our gods.” A pause, then: “because there is no one else.” The bridges between her and her mothers have been burned (she assumes this, does not know it). She is a thing too strange and feral, too acclimated to pain, to come back. She is His and though it is not evident to onlookers her possession wraps itself in her speech, the glazed look that sometimes overtakes her. “Do you know what it’s like, Joscelin? To love?” To love because there is no other option, because surely it’s the only word for the strange fire He alights within you. p e r s e ------------------------------cordis x spyndle

I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG my muse was not having it