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point.
As for the #re, which riddles & leaves me nothing but secrets is nothing beside the
These are the things you make from my pubic bone:
❃ a sunken frigate for our daughter; housing the ghost of our suffering
❃ dyed lilies from the rat mandible found in the nest of those who gnaw all heirs
❃ a dun run sibling made golem, tugging out hair, upturned and swung from a brass pendulum
❃ small scorned sheep, their mouths made longer with cut of swords reciting echoes of fallen nations
❃ thin books of bee spells, the marrow makes italic elevens repeated across the sound of pavement where I, holding breath for valley, for minutes, for night, for wolf make breathe near the nook of this neck;