The Heart is a Prison
The wily Desdemona earned her conviction: that sly bastard Robert at her side, she'd brought old Frangia to the riverside, a bouquet of lobelia in her hair. Green water claimed the men, and Desdemona had taken off on Robert's sweet Indian. She sits across from me in the cell, tempting dandelions to the window ledge with her stare, but tiny suns never bloom in this place, though my love does. Should she find out, I fear it will be me, in the cold, rank waters of our toilet, joining the men as the final part of Desdemona's macabre menage a trois.
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The above is brought to you by today's OneWord.
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I reviewed Amal el Mohtar's The Honey Month last year, and I've just found out that this lovely little book of the fantastic and gently brilliant is now available as an e-book.
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