Sylvia Plath on death and desire

I’m sunk in Sylvia Plath right now. It’s dangerous. Look:

 

mjc-sylvia plath ariel

These lines, here:

 

Something else

Hauls me through air—
Thighs, hair;
Flakes from my heels.

White

Godiva, I unpeel—
Dead hands, dead stringencies.

 

make me come apart, utterly.

Read the full poem here, courtesy of the PoetryFoundation and Harper Collins.

mjc

 

About mjanecolette

Writer. Reader. Angster. Reformed Bohemian (not). Author of the erotic romance Tell Me, the erotic tragedy (with a happy ending) Consequences (of defensive adultery), and the rom-com (she's versatile) Cherry Pie Cure, as well as the non-fiction collection of essays Rough Draft Confessions: not a guide to writing and selling erotica and romance but full of inside inside anyway. Coming in 2018: Text Me, Cupid, a steamy romance in four episodes. Current WiPs: Queer Christmas in Cowtown, Jewel of the Not-So-Spectacular Boobs, All In the Cards, and Un-Valentine. Yes, working on four projects simultaneously is a spectacularly bad idea.

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