Touching forearms can cause a rash.
At least, it did. Whatever occurred, allergy.
Tanto faz, já aconteceu lá atrás.
Mas o lembrar - ô pra lembrar
May such thoughts exist only in passing,
amanhecendo pra acabar aqui assim
Recordings and so much distance make
a vibrant view. Sinto falta da minha cidade.
Let it be an itch on my forearms.
Allow me to feel touch, to both see and experience
beauty however it so permits.
Não dá pra experimentar tanto assim.
Redemption is not supposed to come as we’d like.
Tô permitido pra fazer isso no outro idioma?
Lembro da coceira e I wish you to be the pain
in my kneecaps.
Critique is a dear friend
Sep 10, 2023
Sep 10, 2023 at 10:42 PM UTC
beginning of an itch,
a compulsion to recall
wallowing in reminiscence
it flows in one eye
and out the other
hesitant to attach names
but willing to start
for the sake of a source caring enough
to warrant breaching a feigned barrier
the detachment atomizes
so decided against
as it was with a left palm in the sun
with a wallflower valentine
and a song sung at night
I feel the care - I really do
How it feels as growing pains
To grace myself with a belief
One that I so quickly apostatisize
Savor the reverence of it all
Color negatives of care,
visible only for a moment - up to the light.
Apr 13, 2023
Apr 13, 2023 at 3:03 AM UTC
It’s in the phantoms of your arms -
the path and the smoke you leave behind
just outside my focal length
that fund the false peace I tended to
My legs can’t replicate the steps
the adrenaline is still there,
dancing closely as to syncopate a pulse
just to melt the wax and feel warmth
imagining that something would change.
How cruel your compassion became
how damning your gentle touch
completely enrapturing me in memory
looks like we’re both trying to quit something
Feb 26, 2023
Feb 26, 2023 at 8:25 AM UTC
It's with a small heat
Given time and time again
Carefully waiting
Jan 28, 2023
Jan 28, 2023 at 7:32 PM UTC
Bathing in surface tension,
streams of skin left flush in slumber.
Perhaps it’s like being a bird,
trading fragility for flight
and something to fly for
Saddening yet is the absence
that by pulse alone cannot be warranted
for what? By what bounds?
Fingernails and fabrics,
clothing and crossroads,
songs and ***
that are so wonderful and so
well pieced together. Okay.
Swords and wristwatches -
how dissonant and foolish
- or as it convinces so.
Of which a passing kindness sows
what will reap a morose kind of harvest
Saddening yet again is the absence,
that is because it cannot be the lack that
is forbidden by design.
It is the sadness as taboo
as waiting for you to show up
Jan 14, 2023
Jan 14, 2023 at 7:05 AM UTC
Within each and every breath
wisps of it all drench alleles
swiftly, surgically.
Every photon, widening iris
consuming every angle
insatiable and unrepentant
Not anything but desire
coating a soul in what
a matte finish?
Fingertips around a waist,
leaning with closed eyes,
breath upon cold ears
Just another beat
another beat
another beat
Chanting so violently
it cannot be craved any more
any more than one can be loved
Dec 18, 2022
Dec 18, 2022 at 4:49 AM UTC
It percolates through these lungs when breathing in
Never to be that way, oh my god
never to be
All those little bits of oxygen entering the bloodstream
yearning for that sacred resting of the ear
the joy is felt at a distance
Pass through the chambers and fuel the body
eyes and smiles and more eyes again
an inverse person, a void - cannot reach out
Energy to the tendons, the muscles, all of it
new pulse allows the outstretching of hands
never to be that way, oh my god
an inverse person, a void - trying to reach out
let the hand suspend itself, let it galvanize,
let it rust; rust. Never to be
Nov 5, 2022
Nov 5, 2022 at 5:20 PM UTC
In the eyes they do notice,
in the hand there are quarters,
in the room there is silence,
in the memory there is little.
Chatting and
dancing and
***** and
water and
and
and
Sunlight and
bite marks and
nausea and
oh no and
and
and
In the eyes they did notice,
in the hand there were quarters,
in the room now there is nothing,
and as a memory we'll be.
Nov 1, 2022
Nov 1, 2022 at 12:42 AM UTC
As if it could touch a deity,
a feeling embodied in the fingertips of Adam, it could.
A reach into the rumors amongst passers-by,
lifetimes woven into alleyways, backpacks.
Is it not enough to love vibrantly, like a window in daylight?
To not only be seen, but to be seen through -
reflecting back blurred gestures and nervous habits.
Translating the apparition into sighs and enamor.
The core - the eigendecomposition - speaks confidently.
Hiding in each each verbal pillar the tiniest wound.
Down in the space below, the basis for it -
that feeling embodied in the fingertips of Adam.
Reaching as such towards rapture of the deep,
hoping in each joint to love so deeply,
it was as if it could touch a deity.
Oct 24, 2022
Oct 24, 2022 at 6:27 PM UTC
It's not much different than a torn seam,
you pull hard enough and the thread comes out.
But no point in nurturing a tear that can't be found,
it's just nice to imagine these stitches have a purpose.
Or that injury doesn't beget an added insult.
It can just be injury.
Either way I can't get you out of my seams.
Parts of me still feel like I'm idolizing you somehow,
ironing you onto whatever memories look nice with jewelry.
The rest of me knows it for sure. Worn with verbiage,
I'm happy to never speak of it with you again. I really meant that.
Silence is a close friend of mine despite how infrequently it visits, but secrecy and I have always been closer.
My needlepoint feels impossibly delicate when I can see your curls at approximately 55 miles per hour. My hands unravel away fast enough that I couldn't hem it anyway.
Pastel blue eyes in the sun, and a tapestry of tattoos fill my vision. Your nails dyed carefully and applied to you like buttons. The outfit looks great by the way. I am so nervous in front of you. I always have been.
I appreciate your understanding and your embroidery of it, easing the bits of it all I still hold onto. I've never been much of a seamster but I've mended a few things in my time. Eventually I'll be clinical enough to clip the threads left over. Maybe I'll even be able to pull them out. For now I've tailored myself to fit into a role I'm happy to fill, but the threads keep ******* breaking.
Oct 9, 2022
Oct 9, 2022 at 11:35 AM UTC