Saviour, come my way.: Consorting With Angels
by Anne Sexton
I was tired of being a woman, tired of the spoons and the post, tired of my mouth and my breasts, tired of the cosmetics and the silks. There were still men who sat at my table, circled around the bowl I offered up. The bowl was filled with purple grapes and the flies...
Reblogged from Saviour come my way.