all these words and I cannot form a single sentence about you and me
it’s like you are forbidden fruit
the apple I so violently want to grab
the devil is egging me on
when there is a greater force begging me to recoil

you know I thought I had ruined it
You know
ruined you
But you never forgot how to love me
And when I love you slipped out of my mouth that night you said it right back

It's funny how you're my sun,
Warming my soul on the coldest of days
When the piercing stilettos of winter
Penetrate my body.
Yet on other days you burn my skin
Like a million untamed sparks
Lunging at the hand of the man
Who feeds the flames
Because he doesn't want to see them die.

Our hands rise
and the street leaps.
Our eyes lower,
the heavens collapse.

From our unspoken pain,
a tulip tree grows
mysteriously behind us.

From our cherished wishes,
a star rises
just beyond our reach.

Do you hear the bullets
whizzing around our heads
guarding our kisses?

The sweetness
of your glance
never ends.

No birds fly south
from your eyes;
no avalanches slide
from your *******.

In the paradise
of your sight
the sun never sets.

These are your lips
I return to your neck.

Your blood
burns in my heart.

Everything remains.

I love my black cat,
for all his brokenness, his brain
damage, his tendency to
drool and
to fall off
things.  
I love him dearly,
in spite or perhaps because of
these various defects,
and he loves me back
with a fierce and simple purity
like only idiots can.

Still, I
sometimes wish
we could time travel together,
he and I,
and I could take him to Ancient Egypt
and show the Pharoah, the priests, the acolytes and the slavedrivers.
I'd show them my wonderful cat
with his wobbly eyes, his
flailing windmill limbs and
his perfect idiot love,
and I'd tell them all:
'This is your God.
Reevaluate.'

on occasions we go further than we did before.



the patch of dark is from the trees, a marking

place. the field of bells beyond. we have not

walked there since her mother died. we can

hear the people talk up on the precipice, look

they move slowly.



two are wearing orange, i think that they cannot see me.

i often say we, as if there are two of me. we stood

in the darker place.



turned,



and walked home again.



sbm.

Thank you everyones x

The power is cut and the house is dark,
it is not yet night, the world bathed in saturated blue,
washed in layers of filter.
We're lost in our own worlds,
my brother and I,
and our silence is understanding
and companionship
and muted friendship.
My mother is in the kitchen,
silhouetted against the candle's orange light,
and she is soft edges
and stitches
and a woman who bore two.
The three of us,
strangers, family,
unknown, discovered,
hidden in the darkness, revealed in the shadows.
I want to say, *this matters.
This moment matters.
You will forget
but I will always remember.