Persephone in Reverse
On the cusp of spring, a descent.
I find myself bound to you again. Five-leaved ivy vines circle my wrists and thighs, for I am Persephone in reverse, abdicating the lengthened light while pursuing your longer shadow. "Is this not what you wanted?" Your voice, low and mocking as you lead me to my new abode: a cave, temperate-cool, awash in silence clinging and cruel. Time is suspended in this gloaming. With a turn of your wrist, you channel me through cen...