not-yet-lover.
how you hang in perfection.a knight
a white flower
an unlying lip
upon lip.at an hour past grace
i am thinking on the plot
of our delicious fiction,
a future,
ridiculous…
our maybe,
divine.you’re a vessel i fill
greedily,
the wild tale i tell myself
before you are human.be not yet human,
be myalmost-lover
so i may dare you to gather me,
to drink to the sadness
that begins
with desire,to scream down the face of this
eyeless, nameless beginningless loverthe wolf at a carcass,
the lava descending
the lily heavy with heat
Sarah Slean
Isidora Works 