La Vierge

por: Mark Axelrod

Saddled by the brideshead, she bears her vestal vestige to he who promises seizures in the sunset and whispers in the rain. Closing her eyes, her visions vacillate, as the pain from prying fingers files slowly to the lip of illusion; and with lips of clasped uncertainty cleaving, she shrieks a re-creative cry within the stoic silence of the night. Her cacophony only silenced at the sudden onset which is sleep.

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