my dad, he calls me his little morning dove
my dad, he calls me his little morning dove
Simon of Cyrene went home that Friday evening with blood, not his own, on his shirt.
The Serpent lived in the Garden in the days before men. It marveled at the newness, the vastness, the shared breath of all who dwelled within.
From underground, a worm hears a voice.
He only does this when he’s drunk. At first it didn’t bother me. We married before he was king, and I was madly in love with him.
