Fertility has her arms crossed.
She will not speak, or be deciphered.
Womb to the Black Sea, moody
as a rhino, breasts, heavy limestone.
The media says her script is Sicilian,
legs Parisian. Her signature twisted
in the lyre of an envious God.
But there are no first drafts in deliverance.
She lives in hurried time – a fraying lease.
Cranky clocks offer no leeway.
She opens her legs like a papyrus scroll
Who touches her? Expectations.
Who throttles her voice-box? Expectations.
Who keeps her captive? Expectations.
Who sets her free like fire from stone-work?
Paris Morel is studying for an MA in Creative Writing at the University of Kent. She is currently writing her first novel – a surreal coming-of-age story. Paris lives by the sea, where she works part-time in a hotel owned by a mysterious man called Mr K. Her writing sessions are often accompanied by the German composer, Hans Zimmer. In heaven – or hell – she hopes to date Frida Kahlo, but has tons of writing to do before she gets there.