windows, salads, and strangers we can dress them all as we choose
a mess I have created
look at your hands tremble
debussy was an artist first and a musician second
If you pry apart your mouth wide enough, you can see me crying. I’m small, microscopic, warm to the touch, Containing multitudes, not misunderstood but not desiring to be loved. Do you, too, transcribe limbs for science?