This exalted intermission
between understudy and actor.
This evolution of body, as undulations
sculpted from a parallel line physique.
This exhalation; a quiet desire to press palms
and entwine the furrows of our fates.
This excavation of other peoples’
skulls in search of scarlet emotion.
This epiphany, that of naivety and knowing,
we can only claim the former.
This tongue, that will in years to come,
let words unravel like twine beneath your teeth.
Make live the tales you one day wish to tell.
Poem: Beth Proctor | Illustration: Astrid Elisabeth