#lunavera

LUNA: Hear me: I ripped a vine from the wall of the hill to fashion your spine; I picked feathered champignons from the mud to serve as your red lungs; I gathered twigs of larch and yew for the many twisting paths of your veins and arteries. Your eyes were acorns, your tongue a strip of moss, your throat a circle of bone worn hollow. Into the baby's breath of your hair I wove a strand of hers, but still: there is more of me in you than there is Anna Limon, for blood presides over every birth, even yours. I cut my wrist and bled into your mouth and watched you writhe and form and grasp and finally, finally, breathe.

Hold off. You might be cranking through it now, but you also might get stuck at chapter five and regret posting it at all.

My thoughts too, actually. Not that I think I'm gonna get stuck, because as I said I have it plotted out which usually means smooooth sailing from here on, but I might get stuck or distracted and wind up feeling shitty about a longer wait between chapters