Sole of the boot? No no no no.
explain, will you?
Miss, you are no Sylvia Plath, and please stop being her, and I will stop being your Kafka.
Instead. 'O, that infected moisture of his eye, O, that false fire which in his cheek so glowed, O, that forced thunder from his heart did fly, O, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestowed, O, all that borrowed motion, seeming owed, Would yet again betray the fore-betrayed, And new pervert a reconciled maid.'
The copy of Colossus should have been a warning sign for me to read. Ignorant me.
'For further I could say 'This man's untrue,'And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling;Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew,Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling;Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling;Thought characters and words merely but art,And bastards of his foul adulterate heart.