I love your abused mouth; your lips pad together with final words.
I will die here too in a place where no-one can say my name, except for you. And you are dying mouthing not my name, but his.
Cities have fallen and cities will fall.
brunhilde
October: Brunhilde (i) (forward)
I lived on a mountain. My house had thick walls made of mud which men had carried on their backs all the way from the river banks of my home country. They were whipped up hillsides, forced over rocks wet with pure river water and through gullies slimy with stinking moss. The rugs in my house had been stitched by the women of my father’s house. They cried over each stitch. I could taste their tears when I put my tongue on the rugs.
It was a good place to live.
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