Tuesday, February 2, 2010


She Is Mine
By Shawn Wunjo

Admire, for a moment, if you will, the elegant curves of her form, the straight planes of her cheeks, the subtle, pale brilliance of her eyes. Her hair is silk, smooth, dark, long and flowing. Do you like it? She is mine.

Admire, for a moment, if you will, the thinness of her wrists, the subtle narrowing of her waist to perfect hips. Her skin, so pale, so sweet. Touch it for a moment, feel the softness of it, the way it is pleasantly cool to the touch. Do you like it? She is mine.

She is my creation. Every last stitch of thread is mine, woven into her by my hand. I wove her skin on that loom, built her with teeth and straining fingers, needle and sweat. Do you like her? She is my creation.

She is mine.

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Wunjo is a victim of a Proto-Germanic reconstruction via Gothicism. He sees things that hide from others and only eats (and dies) when he absolutely has to.


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