Trees sway in my mind while I hack and eat away her skin needles litter the floor, green green ferns speckle white light wildly "I am the end," breath pouring over warm peach skin cradled within the nape of her neck Sappho screams into darkness flesh aflame, "A refining fire has made me blind." The Rose of Sharon, a pile of ashes "A kind of beginning," grasp the running river with its weeping willows, "roll with the body taken by the current." Yokes of hunger and need plow spring time fields plump with sin Lilly of the Valley, we kiss and pray upon your luscious leaves. Sappho was a prophet of this avarice.