It’s not about truth. It is about faith. An orientation where the future has cult status. This brand of dislocation has been exalted to attract maximum anticipation.
keeper of promises
a prophetic mothering
finally overcome, the sun pushes the moon to perform
Our bodies warmed with use. Your eyes close in respect. Private consumption whetted.
This is my origin: he celebrated our birth with strangers while she bled alone. As romantic as it may sound, this is not an apology.