sarah perrier

sarah perrier epithalamium

Uncork this bottle of wasps—the edge of the wilderness is close by, and a woman waits there, broken at the shoulders, her waist a circle of hay, her spine a broomstick tacked in place with duct tape. In her skirts a space of branches fit for such a nesting as theirs. We carry this danger to her together; we call this danger a marriage.

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