Gossamer between our lies- as we coil around each other. Do they make you happy? Falling against me, I feel you slipping down down into the place that we joke about in between missed eye contact. grab the soil and let it fall in patterns you can never know
Month: May 2019
Remake
Wrap your hands around my heart again. Letting me sleep, feeling me go. Forgetting to love you And you for -get -ting to love me back. Cross our streams, mix the rocks. We can tumble against ourselves over again. Speak, break love, remake the crumbling and collapsing- This has always been our toil
saved
Do you recall the first time that you showed me a piece of that turmoil- when we stood in grass and waited for the wind to stop, at borrowed apartments, with less sleep than I care to admit I cannot pretend I will fall into the trap again. My legs have been broken too many…
Customary
The bird that spoke the apple’s truth feared no mortal. This too will close. — Sit muttering your hardest truths, but only to yourself. what have you deigned today to be but another waste. stew yourself with the bones of tomorrow again- strike from them the last vestiges of flavour. —- He had sat with…
Scattered Notes
Spill your brokenness into the space between our hands and let it fill in the gaps between our fingers again. Complete this task once more, let the us of now flourish in between baths of bloodrite and becoming. Settle this score that has wedged itself into our garden between the growth and decay we so…
daylily
To our youth, and what ruins lay behind They follow me forever, their cries resounding- radio waves of confusion and anger I am below and above it all. Foot steps pounding through wooded shadows with slime coating my feet — What air I breathe is not actually my own, just borrowed diluted through your lungs-…
i++
This is happening again, and again. Your phases of development follow no linear path. Kanban boards filled with notes of every colour. I cannot breathe in gaslight fumes and spiteful desires without coughing up my own corrupted fears
Apropos
A wannabe bishop’s plea for uttered grace and spoken-for-time. Why’d you go and break it again? Grind kosher salt into my cuts, so at least I don’t offend those above when you burn me through. Real friends or fiends on my shoulders and mind The view from so high has given me clarity. I left…