Page 31

A woman’s  heart  is  made  of  =lesh   and  blood,  cerise in  its  viscosity,  dripping  steadily with  unful=illed  needs.

So a  maiden’s  heart,  throbbing with  crimson  inexperience,  pure in  its  state  of  girlhood would  infuse  her,  she  hoped,  with  the  elixir   of  verve, rejuvenate  her  waning  splendour,  and  ful=ill her  reckless  longing that  only  an  unloved  queen  is  capable  of.

Spudgun #1  

Magazine of poetry and art

Spudgun #1  

Magazine of poetry and art