sleepless midnight
crisp evening air
turquoise darkness
figures, waiting
painted the dawn
swirling blue
dreams, pooling
caramel lullaby
vacant home
no longer alone
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 2:46 AM UTC
i will try to remain as soft
and warm as I am when
the days are long and the
river is high, because I seem
to take the winter into my
pores and the snow pack
in my thighs, let my fences
run for miles and miles
but I'm trying.
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 2:41 AM UTC
quietly, in the mornings
with only your fingers
shades tilted in, the lapis
dawn that barely makes
it through, door ajar
studied, an open book quiz
unmentionables, spoken in
water drops
melted butter
shower steam
vanilla
milk
cinnamon.
before the sun
before breakfast
before the earth opens up like it does
take it with a grain of salt, with an ounce of optimism
the glass ain't even here, we have lakes
we have amber canopies, other hands that shield
lovers that reach for us mid-dream, us
they reach for us in sleep induced affection,
they may as well be reaching across continents
who knows how far away they dream,
fingers sliding across cello strings
they make beautiful music while
they are here, traveling limbos to find us
but we're here in the morning, in the quiet morning.
how to eat honeycomb.
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 8:30 AM UTC
the air is heavy
with an unspoken desire
for his tanned skin
upon hers
a shady block
of warm breeze,
a dusty corner
and her back against it
- heaven.
gentle kisses that tasted like summer
now dot her memory
along with flashes of squinting
liquid honey coloured eyes
framed within lashes
that remind her of the sort of thing she'd like want to feel fluttering against her shoulder
first thing
on a sunny sunday morning;
a nose that she'd like to have nuzzled against the crook of her neck
all swatches of filtered sunlight
and unfamiliar hands
soft lips and hurried goodbyes
- imprints of a translucent yellow
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 3:11 PM UTC
unsighted motions
eyes perceiving everything
white cain's silhouette
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 1:39 PM UTC
through dawn i stumble,
singing to bustling streets through
clenched teeth, through
wavering eyelids i
am the sum
of the sleep
i haven't got. i
was lost,
and couldn't
and can't tell if this day
pervades, but;
lost like this, lost
undercurrent, while caverns of cloud subsume,
i can take this.
in an instant,
lucid life is a dream i
carve whilst awake. i'd
never seen vanishing
as perfectly as this
platanus leaf beneath
rain, beneath me.
the sky dissolves as i breathe,
choking on city air.
at the end of everything,
i draw out short
straws. indisciplined, the
spaces between my heartbeats
become,
to curl up and writhe and
scream aloud your name,
to take down
the whole **** coast
on the single point we
intersect,
with hope;
to fall into your life, like
slow leaves to footpaths.
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 1:24 PM UTC
today, i looked into the mirror,
and under the hollow cheeks and tired eyes
i saw the ghost of someone i used to be,
back in the days of dimpled cheeks and gap-toothed grins
and oversized jumpers,
and i yearned.
those were the days of hurling ourselves off swings
to see if we could fly,
of doing backflips off monkey-bars
for the sheer joy of it,
of chasing each other round and round the playground
until our legs felt like lead and we were breathless with laughter
for no reason at all.
those were the days of dirt caked under fingernails
and knees covered in scabs;
souvenirs from various painful encounters
with the sun-soaked concrete.
i hated the sight of my own blood back then,
sharp and red as it was,
and so i’d wail in banshee fashion
until it was all patched up under a nice neat bandaid
which i'd proudly show off to my friends
(“no, I didn’t cry at all!”)
now tubes chew at my skin instead of sunlight,
and i am always out of breath
even though i do not run.
there is scarcely a scratch to be found on my body,
but my pulse has never been so weak
nor my legs so tired.
i hold the memories of those distant days
- tiny glowing bodies -
in the palms of my hands,
and maintain a reverent distance,
because there is no way
i will ever be that young or that carefree again.
still, sometimes i look into the mirror
and can almost reconcile my weary reflection
with the person i used to be.
and i long to shed this ruined skin, this brittle body,
and go back to the good old days
when everything was simple
and pain could be fixed
with a dora the explorer bandaid.
and sometimes, i want to burst through the doors and run,
atrophied limbs flailing, frantic heart pounding,
and catch muted copper sunbeams
with my hands outstretched.
most of all, i want to stumble.
i want to stumble
and i want to fall
and i want to bleed -
just to prove to myself
that i still can.
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 12:52 PM UTC