as often as one would expect.
—Ben Blatt, in The Guardian
Do you think it was love
of mauve that
drove Nabokov,
or merely the need
to state things
in-betweenly:
how even this
rough life's most
beautiful bruises
are paler
than purple, yet murkier
than pink—and how
we tend to eye
even the cleanest idea
suspiciously
and can't resist giving it
a little shove
with our lips?