‘Two Hands’, ‘Consistent Love’ & ‘Lust’
Anastasiia Terentieva is a Ukrainian fine art and documentary photographer based in the United States. Her work focuses on identity, displacement, and emotional memory, often blending traditional Ukrainian symbolism with contemporary visual language. A former lawyer turned full-time artist, she uses photography to explore womanhood, silence, and cultural resilience. Anastasiia’s projects have been exhibited internationally — in New York, London, Chicago, Barcelona, and more — and published in multiple art and cultural journals.
Two Hands
Lain beneath them, my breath is hardly my own
Their hands, vicious and callous
Tearing at my skin, complete disregard
They pull back what was once only mine
Their cruel imagination entangles with my mind
Forever tied, a feeling I can never forget
My body reacts: pain or pleasure?
Their eyes are on me like a butcher
To take me apart, that’s all they want
An exhale. A gasp.
Culmination.
Liberation.
Once again, I share my breath as his now dances along my lips
His hands, commanding and purposeful
Scratching at scars, he’s never drawn blood
Eyes squeeze shut as those hands strike skin
His whispers ring in my ears, blocking out everything else
Bound to him, tensing, I can finally relax
My body reacts: pain and pleasure?
His eyes dissect me, sharp and heated
I let him take me apart, piece by piece
A whine. A groan.
Gratification.
Euphoria.
Consistent Love
He smiles with pointed canines
That laugh gives me butterflies / Those teeth bruise my breasts
His hands are soft with jewelry on every finger
The ring we share is his favorite / Those fingertips fit well against my neck
His blue eyes shine in even the faintest light
Those eyes have always seen me as beautiful / Those eyes have examined every inch of my body
His beard is soft and smells of sandalwood and cedar
It grew in well after we met / There’s a patch of red-bleached hair coming in beneath his chin
I told him I didn’t know what love really felt like
I’ll never forget the feeling / I’ll never forget the feeling
Lust
You nip at my ankles – tame, impatient
How I wish those teeth would sink further,
Draw the blood that longs to coat your tongue.
I long to watch it dance across my chest
Paint my body red, but only
if you will let me clean the brush
when the piece is finally finished.
Ashley Groves is a Cincinnati-based writer. They have previously acted as the Coordinating Nonfiction Editor for the Short Vine Literary Journal.
