All the time we wondered and wondered, who is this person coming/growing/turning/floating/swimming deep, deep inside.
Crescent DragonwagonI was an onion, layers and layers and layers under a thin, papery skin. If anyone had been able to cut me open, my bitter, irritating juices would have stung their eyes, and they would have cried. Although I couldn't cry myself, much at the time. But no one would cut me open.
Crescent DragonwagonI always have this sense of food as triangular, in that one point is nourishment, one point is connection, and one point is pleasure, and I always come at it from the pleasure and connection points, and the nourishment follows.
Crescent Dragonwagon