by Elizabeth Bruce Daughter I ask, you waver. The questions linger there behind the lace curtains passed down from mother to mother to you, Daughter. Your teacup trembles, its lilac flowers basking in the timidity of your embrace.
e-revista EgoPHobia
by Elizabeth Bruce Daughter I ask, you waver. The questions linger there behind the lace curtains passed down from mother to mother to you, Daughter. Your teacup trembles, its lilac flowers basking in the timidity of your embrace.