Lisa Williams reads
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I made myself a circle, then a square. I made a box too small for him to open and then a portal which, from anywhere, displayed the magnitude of my affection. Once full of pliant roundnesses and curves, his private tapestry, I made a skin tight as a drum, impervious to pain and drew this on as if to stop an army, then turned into a blossom on a plain, rose-like and fragrant, luring him to come and nestle in. I threw the flower at him crumpled in a ball. It hit the floor and there I was: plain angry red, a sphere as foreign to his faculties as Mars. In every way I wanted him to care. I made myself a circle, then a square.