A nun presses the stole with her mouth —
like a mother ironing a shirt for her son.
One lives animalistically, and milk flows.
The other hid from the world
her craving rose —
white as a spasm,
dead as a stone on the skull mountain.
Always the same.
Mar 8
Mar 8, 2026 at 11:36 PM UTC
A nun presses the stole with her mouth —
like a mother ironing a shirt for her son.
One lives animalistically, and milk flows.
The other hid from the world
her craving rose —
white as a spasm,
dead as a stone on the skull mountain.
Always the same.
