Medusa, do the snakes snap at your fingers when you run a comb through your tresses? Or do they unravel their bodies, straightening into an Eden of hoses that could power wash the stains out of the enemies you’ve turned to stone?

No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story. No Kings.
Medusa, do the snakes snap at your fingers when you run a comb through your tresses? Or do they unravel their bodies, straightening into an Eden of hoses that could power wash the stains out of the enemies you’ve turned to stone?