it is the only way i know to snap my boughs in a storm, to give up my hiding place when my heartbeat has made my cheeks warm, to set my teeth when you show me the place where you hurt, i’d break myself to fix you and stop trembling in return. i think in the woods our names are already carved. you kissed my mouth the first time and i realized that the rest of my life i had...
you can always be certain that the heart you fall asleep beside will be the same in the morning, the same color and the same rhythm, the same blue butterfly, if you learn the sound of the wings you can set your watch to it . it is a lighthouse, the shape of your face, which brings me back from the labyrinths of sleep. by the time you wake, i am already tethered . your beauty is...
i want to be a season for you i want to be the molting of leaves or the layer of ice or the windows you leave open. or if you would let me be the spring when the whole world parts with flowers on either side like you are standing in the middle of a tulip field, the almost symmetry of the bowing trees with their heavy blossoms, something promised in sky writing and photographs of...
… i burned all my dresses from before you i want to be brand new didn’t you know this boat of mine travels in a straight line to you …
how often it is that we are traveling toward someone, who owns all of the seconds it takes to reach them. tonight i watched all of the white blades of the highway and felt the current behind me. it is like the poetry of gravity, watching leaves fall from a tree. i decided not to sleep on the bus so i could feel you getting closer to me.
if every thought of you was a mile i would already be there inside of your coat counting the beats of rain fading into the earth the way that i vanish against your skin
Those who are hardest to love need it the most.– Socrates (via mars-as-a-girl)
it might feel like a desert island but i don’t think it is, the mail still comes and the sound of other lives gently taps at the glass of this. but inside the glass we have fogged no one can be blamed for forgetting there is a rhythm besides the one of your heart, somehow always steady, that my heart trips unevenly upon. and if there were a window and one of us touched the...
your skin is a silencer there are no words coming from my pistol . don’t let me get used to, i am already used to, you whispering heartbreak into my ear . and i could never draw the moon but i could draw the impossible color of beauty staining . i am not sure that anything collapses as quickly as me in your hands . i look away and steel myself, i look back and break.
faces that launch ships. i swear that your lips are the source of the fleet of arrows that incessantly chase my heart
planet of light
my heart is a candle set inside a paper bag put upon a lake that could at any moment succumb to the water to hiss and be put out or could at any moment catch its paper edges and become a planet of light on an axis invisible but certain, to the other side
some part of me hears what you say and then immediately erases it, as though there were never a strand of perfect words connecting your lips to my lips . because my heart sees ghosts. because beauty is a glimpse from a window seat . because love is the deepest well i know filled with a water so sweet . that i am afraid no one is going to be able to find me.
all i wanted was a kiss with so many waxes and wanes that i would spend the rest of the night trying to name it, from lips that i had to keep tasting and a face that would make me pause in the doorway, to be melted by a new season . all i wanted made an impossible sea that you crossed safely in the night and i had only to stand on tip toes to close the last distance
I have scars on my hands from touching certain people.– J. D. Salinger (via rubberrose)
i want to watch a time lapse film of you and i asleep to watch the pattern of the light and the leaves pin point when the bpm of you, of me is just one number just one creature, sleeping . when i wake i feel my lips have been pressed to you somehow and my fingernail is torn i think i must have broken down some door play back the film to when i must have stirred and torn...
last night you armed me with a weapon, my white hands rolled a cannonball across your back, someone had given you as an artifact, like your spine and your blades were metal tracks made of perfect skin that turned red under my hands - red from the rust? - - no, just red from the weight - and i just barely moved my hands and you sighed like a flower in a press . and i went to...
No matter how corrupt, greedy, and heartless our government, our corporations,...– Kurt Vonnegut