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
even the cleanest idea
we tend to eye
suspiciously
and can't resist giving it
just the littlest shove
with our lips?
