By: Victoria G. Smith Resting,” your maker named you. yet there’s nothing restful in your pose. Your naked breast marks your heart— its beating pounds in my ears. Your pale face turns toward the light— tell me, is it ...
Read More »By: Victoria G. Smith Resting,” your maker named you. yet there’s nothing restful in your pose. Your naked breast marks your heart— its beating pounds in my ears. Your pale face turns toward the light— tell me, is it ...
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