The Stories, The Poems, and The Prose of Nadine Sellers

     She, the child, she, the universe.
     Oh soft loneliness.
     And her body, alone, again.

     Sorrow swells in her belly
     Full of water and blood
     While she brings plasma to life,
     To clone her destiny.
     She stretches passion
     Beyond walls of sanity.

     Smelling softly of matrimony
     She oscillates amid her moods
     Swelling moistly under August heat,
     She vacillates in summer misery.
     Vanillin scent wafts from her womb,
     Bathing her in narcissistic lymph.

     Head bent toward her thoughts,
     She mourns the crowded seed
     And offers a certain sadness
     To the posterity immured within.
     Through her plump arms and breast
     Courses a savage tenderness.

     She, the child, she, the universe.
     Oh soft loneliness.
     And her body, alone, again. . .