In follow-up
last night I dreamt of Adrienne Barbeau
representing the Ephesian Artemis.
She scolded me:
"You don't love yourself as a woman,
you don't love yourself as a hole in history!"
I fell to my knees
I clasped her knees through the thin fabric of her patterned mumu.
Against my chest I could feel the lowest of her eight breasts bump and roll—
How old she's turned!—I thought, crying:
"I love YOU Adrienne!"