The Frames of Breath

The menace of my moments arose somehow, as I heard the virginal lease had turned. I knew this pulling back of lens wouldn’t change the force of hemlock or fate; only the sense of visual games.

I had much to learn....

On the other branch of earth:

She knelt down to tie her awkward pink ballet; her fingers growing arrogant with her past. She wanted only now to stand, in a place of star-clipped and bludgeoned howls. She had, within the trials of her footprints, painful blister cupped pools of other’s fear, forming from her miles of love; or so they judged. Nor had she courted any forms of praise beyond the struggles of air; this in a world sad-eyed with lungs. But in this bold opening, as others have tried, and somewhere between the leaves of distant limbs, her pink ballet changed the color of me. I don’t know how but with a lover’s hand and a hole in the side of Christ, she turned so much distant the coward in me.

 

Reviews

[Priscilla Sayers]

I love this. It's the tenderness, the vulnerability that melts the heart as it is imagined to be written to the reader. Giving a soft ~sigh~ to the "if only one could feel such passion for me"
And that my friend is how it grips.