coals die downquite mysterious, i'mcoals die down by ~breathingglassstars
suddenly driven mad by
the harsh lines of your brow bone
and the shelf of your collarbone.
on wednesdays, i wake up
over you like dead water
sticky with mosquitoes on those
moonless nights when we're
conscious of penetrating darkness,
when our whispers mix and we're
forced into oblivion selected
by celestial cycles. sleep.
so i wander to your eyelids
and let my gaze sweep like full-moon
hands and fall back asleep, lifted
up by the drawing of your breath.
i am growing oldfinding sequences of afternoons where i'mi am growing old by ~breathingglassstars
fumbling around in a dark gray room
trying to uncover pathways never
opened in me, grown from patches
of organic cells to give me home,
let other people waste me away on
summer sunday, 3 p.m. when nothing's happening.
i try to explore cavities, opening
myself up for light to burn and allow
nostalgia to weep from empty wounds
almost like tears or rain.
and then all the pieces of me
will evaporate cleanly like freckles
lifted from skin after winter shows.
i peel myself from cold tiles
covered in daisies, i remind myself
of the way bodies should work
like machines in the nighttime
and docile animals in the morning
when the sun won't stop for anyone.
we don't remember the passage
of time as each second wastes,
forgotten, another moment gone
as it blooms inside my head and dies,
this action, this moment before the dark
with lights carelessly going out,
has meaning only to me, for
moments leave me powerless, whimpering
asleep, inside, reborn, wornwe were girls once, following the tepid musings of the ones we sought. when sunshine slept on our eyelids in front rooms, backrooms, and kitchens, our vision was full of motion. our lives were full of brimmed one-sided warmth reflecting the smallness of our backs and our mouths and the things we saw outside our windows. we saw the streets and the dirty cars and the black tar but we didn't think of those. instead, our time dripped silent from the beams of our hair as we braided it down our backs and comforted each other with our arms tucked and folded together, piled.asleep, inside, reborn, worn by ~breathingglassstars
there they were. the boys walked on the outside, laughing flowers and kissing trees. they stood just beyond the window panes, absorbing shocks of light, coming in and out of focus with the breeze. they never looked in as we touched our hair and lay on hardwood, letting the dust pile around our ears. these boys were living in ways we didn't know how. they didn't fear the electric wires or the radioactive heat pouring beyond
floods won't forgive the rootsdarling lusts for the blossomingfloods won't forgive the roots by ~breathingglassstars
ruse of her stories to keep her safe
through the rough-edged night
crisped clean in feathers,
dripping dewy from the apple
of her throat.
and how cleansing it must be
to grow old despite the dawn's
ephemeral growth, to make wrinkles
out of youthful sunshine because
she promised her mother to grow old
before she offs herself.
how daring is our darling who
makes these promises like she understands
her way around the circumference of seconds,
thinking living's like counting sheep
before she finally goes to sleep blooming
red under hot water, reminding mother of her
wishes in notes, in thoughts.
she would go a flower leaking
seeds of tired youth upon the grass,
whimpering, wilting around the perimeter
of the wind-- pausing, before her hand
is stretched by her happy hopes
in what her mother will soon see...
she calculates the time it takes
for spring to turn cold again
under a gauze of snow.
deliberately, she leaves the room,
the garden, the earth, loosened
Frost and forgivenessI belong on your left kneeFrost and forgiveness by ~psithurisms
with strings attached to my spine
and your fingers playing a melody
too soft with too much coercion
for me to digress.
I belong in your chest,
cheeks pressed against your
weakened muscles, listening
to the faltering pounds
that belong only to me.
I belong between your legs,
wrapped up in pastel ribbons
and silken whispers,
tied together with fumbling fingers
and left to dream for the both of us.
I belong there, thousands of miles
across shattered ocean floors
and star-stained fields
to bask in the descent of orchid air
and to watch each other through