genevieve-brogdonWhisper

American

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An insatiable thirst for punctuationSome kind of craftsman is working at his bench / Peeling ribbons of soft wood under a dim lamp / He watches the growing pile of discarded strips.

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Oh, what a curse to be humanoh what a curse to be a human / for humanity would never suffice / to dance on the breath of eternity

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A Letter I Could Never SendDear Someone, / You are not one person. Yet, in a way, you feel like one. You are every person that I have ever loved. You are the beauty of friendship and the peace that comes with kindness. You are a terrible, wonderful pain that comes with separation. Yet, you are also the hope that is the harbinger of the future. You are the inbetween. / If I could sum you up in a word, it would, honestly, be love. Although, you can only be love by the sum of your parts, because I feel as if not one of your parts has been significant enough to fill the word with meaning. Love, therefore, is to me as an elaborate dream exists. I feel it, I lust for it, yet I have nothing to hold; no sand or clay to pinch between wanting fingers.

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Our Overturebut even if we must part…our love is perfect / and I will wait / in pondersome silence

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