ACHES OF DIFFERENCE Poetry by Jenna Dousi
A pool of broken vessels wraps around his arm, blue and raised, forget-me-nots. The same arm pulls “Call of Cthulhu” from the shelf and breaks its virgin binding. I wince with every detail, never one for horror or impurities. I belong to romance. My femininity believes only in sentimental adventure. I make believe we correspond. I reach and kiss the garden he’s become.
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