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Juno. she is the summer in a thousand and thirty four ways. she aimed for the sun, because it felt just right. but she went too close, it scorched her skin with sweet warmth. And it made her stomach burn with honey, bees tickling and buzzing like the heat of summer. as the moirai weaved, she gets her heart wounded by the sun, she was just another girl for him. Juno was so close, she melted down into a puddle. Read the hymns narrated by the ifrit of the gardens, apollo's pursuit.
i want to stay hidden in the womb of the orange, like a seed. the comparison depicts the bitterness in me for apollo. this unpleasant taste is cocooned inside tiny drupes of sweetness, away from the outermost layer of another bitter covering. perhaps i could forgive him, only if he learns to peel the thick outer skin that i've built around me.
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