Spend this Summer too between your fingers.
corn-gold, combed hair.
Only your stains were left painted on the sand,
where your body once stood like a Cypress.
But another time will come.
When the sea will postpone a crystal spring.
And the sea, the Morning; ice cold, is buried alive under your foot.
- until Spring comes to bring warmth.
-GZ, 1986
Oct 1, 2024
Oct 1, 2024 at 12:19 PM UTC
let me be a woman
to you.
let me undress
my skin,
i won't dress myself in oils,
there's nothing here i need to make.
let me be clear to you:
let me show you my crystal,
my honey
how i drip into my skin
let me be your woman to you
let me dance in your waters,
so you can smell the green in me
so you can see that i am made of
soil,
that i am made of magic
Feb 19, 2024
Feb 19, 2024 at 10:08 AM UTC
where do your layers go?
and all your stories
and the pieces of you
and the parts you play
and all your memories saved
and all the feelings you've felt
and all the moments that made you.
where do your layers go?
and all the songs you wrote
and all the words you placed on paper
and all the letters you sent over seas
and all the conversations you had
and all the love you felt
and all the places you've been and wished to go.
where do your layers go?
when you've lived for your memories
and you've written them all down
And placed them onto paper
And captured it all on film.
but what about the other things.
The everything else you've ever known.
where do they all go?
how can i read them from your mind
Now where can i read you?
how can i run my fingers through them
Or can they placed in glass for us to see
where they can stay, vivid, and alive
to be seen, to be seen, to be seen.
Feb 16, 2024
Feb 16, 2024 at 2:46 PM UTC
The joints
Your knees
The maple trees.
The dragonfly
The bowls of soup
The bones and back breaking work
The years and years.
The threads.
The barrels. The bowls. The mugs, the chairs.
You should take away the light, then.
The moon
The music
The morning.
The paints and years of colour.
The darkness of the highway,
The frying and searing
The scorching.
The soft grass—The meadow.
Your hair tucked behind your ear.
The moments we made and only I witnessed.
How do I separate a soul from a body. My lifetime of me. A lifetime of you. Why are you making me.
And I won’t.
Feb 16, 2024
Feb 16, 2024 at 12:30 AM UTC
I found it tangled in my fingers
like a wet strand of hair. It’s disgusting what you can do to me.
What do I do with it- and why do I chose to keep you.
Why is my only choice to wind you up like you’re twine.
Hoard you like I will be able to use you again for something.
When the time comes.
I’ll make a scarf out of you. Some jewellery. A bracelet.
I’ll wrap and twist and build and build.
Can I make you into a blanket. Can you keep me warm. And safe.
Will I find the end of this thread. What else lies here in my bed. Will there be more of this.
Will it be too much work. Do I have it in me. Can’t I just shelf you for later. I wish I can put the time in. As I have.
But you only have given me this one thread. I’ll have to wait a lifetime for the rest of it. As I have, as I will.
Somehow I’ve decided it’s worth it.
Feb 16, 2024
Feb 16, 2024 at 12:29 AM UTC
You only like me when I’m sleeping -
Where my body is there but quiet.
Where my words come out of my fingertips and onto the polished skin of your back.
Where I’m just a warm body
Soothing you
Pumping you with a pulse
Stretching your bones;
Your eyelids.
Helping you wax off your dye
Watching as you watch
the bathroom mirror - your reflection brushing its teeth, holding its nose; Piercing its eyes.
I will only take your worry.
One deep breath and
I will let it seep.
And I only scratch the surface, even after this lifetime.
If you can, just let me let me let me.
I’m not done here, come back.
Let me. Let me. Let me.
My words can now hold you. I promise.
I will do anything to grow old with you.
Feb 16, 2024
Feb 16, 2024 at 12:27 AM UTC
you've lost your soul on me.
your heavy eyes
show no mercy anymore.
where does your evil come from?
seep, seep, seep.
gutted.
Feb 16, 2024
Feb 16, 2024 at 12:26 AM UTC
this time away from your good heart
has made me
appreciate the warmth of your neck.
here I am with you again,
reminded constantly
that I am always by the sea.
Feb 15, 2024
Feb 15, 2024 at 3:48 PM UTC
who were you to bend to him like that.
do you remember those days
when you knew where that thirst came from?
Now tell me what moves you.
The divine twilight.
the blue the blue the blue
The soft turn into midnight
You knew it from a lifetime ago -
She comes around sometimes.
you weren't perfect then
But you were so much more than enough
And every time I see the sun i sense you.
you are a lilac dream.
a sunset,
the stars,
everything.
Jul 17, 2021
Jul 17, 2021 at 8:43 PM UTC
I want to write this out so i remember.
again, i am left to defend.
my guarded words against your flailing knives
i tell you all the time,
this is not how to fight.
we drive the rest of the way in silence.
I wont let you free this time.
___________________
my silence upsets you.
you begin your tirade into absolute chaos.
i laugh at your dissolution
i can't help it,
i don't cry anymore.
how many times can i hear
that i am only here to annoy you.
that my kindness doesn't matter
to your solid, unforgiving bones.
i tried to make a home for you
time and time over.
i've cooked to your dreams, and cared for, and cleaned.
but again, i am left with only a dismissal,
a distain i've only felt by you.
i sleep on the couch more than my bed.
i don't want to feel you reach for me at night.
-you haven't apologized yet.
__________________
this morning came the sorry.
an apology through text.
i would call that an empty one,
attempting to brush under
what you've done.
another rule is for me to forgive you,
another rule is to not talk to you at work.
but i don't,
and i don't.
today you can sit with my silence,
until you're home and i am ready.
to listen to your plea to forgive you
for the fifteen years you've put me through.
but that will never come
and i will just float through this world i've made for myself
in a gauzy dress
with my paintbrush and a palette,
and all my hours to myself.
but that will never come.
______________________
i'll find myself again, in a distant year,
in another November's sun.
without child and without love
muttering "what have i done".
knowing this entire time,
you would do this to me.
Nov 11, 2020
Nov 11, 2020 at 2:47 PM UTC