May 2012
69 posts
1 tag
When I look at you, I am reading the poetry of your body. It hurts me, in the way that paper hurts as it is incised by my confessions. It hurts until I have stopped hurting.
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I do not know what to write. I do not want to write, yet I want to feel the words underneath my fingers and underneath my skin, as they escape like beetles, as they move me in my sleep like oceans. I do not want to write, I do not want to speak. I want you, and that is a cloud in front of my eyes. You are a cloud, sometimes you cover the sun, sometimes you bring rain onto me, but there are days...
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He asked me where we were on a limp Wednesday afternoon, right before the sun melted and I kissed him on the cheek because I did not want to tell him that we were the midst of ember in a dying fire.
Tonight, the fire is gone simply because of bad weather, where two by two fires die and ashes are left to soak in muddy water.
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“At that moment I was sure. That I belonged in my skin. That my organs were mine...”
– Dave Eggers, You Shall Know Our Velocity! (via bookmania)
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When you were not looking, I went in your room, I stroked the sheets as if it would connect me to your skin, to tracing the inches of bare ice in millimeters. This was my life, the half vacant cups, the dimming roses, the peachy air.
The doors open twice in my dreams, when I am awake, they only close. I pile the undertones like pennies until they make sense. I hang them on the walls with...
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In the lungs of the night, stop listening for your heart. The moon does not breath, it does not need to. The stars should have wept, but it’s only rain. These are normal things, again and again.
Keep the windows clean, do not curse the reeds, only fall in love on Wednesdays, and always speak in tangents. Except on Wednesdays, speak in flowers, in peonies and dahlias.
Light a fire,...
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“There are names for what binds us:
strong forces, weak forces.
Look around,...”
– Jane Hirshfield, “For What Binds Us”
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Recycle my memories, peel my love like schist and return it in packages of straw with no stamp.
Do not remind me that it is artificial, with tape bruising the sides.
Only show me open doors, breach the hinges and leave silence, leave nothing but your quiet lips.
Leave nothing.
April 2012
83 posts
3 tags
