smelt like propane and butterscotch

strange, and breathless, and intense

O the domesticity of these windows,
The baby lace, the green-leaved confectionery,
Glittering
Glittering and digesting

Voicelessness. The snow has no voice.

The Munich Mannequins – Sylvia Plath
{excerpt}

"Of winged, unmiraculous women,
Honey-drudgers.
I am no drudge
Though for years I have eaten dust
And dried plates with my dense hair.

And seen my strangeness evaporate,
Blue dew from dangerous skin.
Will they hate me,
These women who only scurry,
Whose news is the open cherry, the open clover?"

–Stings
BY
Sylvia Plath {excerpt}
todays entry is one back.