Reclining on our backs,
we wonder at the sky.
You point to the abyss of potentiality,
and, tracing her tattoos
with your hand in the air, mutter,
There, like the closing
to some sacred ceremony were we've
united halves into wholes, and suddenly
I do
spot a falling star, and wish
to be the twin of your essence
and for however long forever is,
drink the glittering moonlight in your eyes, if you'd
let me tell you everything I'm thinking,
and I'm thinking that,
wouldn't it be divinely suitable if
we, alone, together, both half of
the same constellation,
drifted about the snow-white night,
our dreams tumbling from our tongues like
a waterfall from the basket of
the water-bearer?
Dec 17, 2019
Dec 17, 2019 at 11:45 PM UTC
Reclining on our backs,
we wonder at the sky.
You point to the abyss of potentiality,
and, tracing her tattoos
with your hand in the air, mutter,
There, like the closing
to some sacred ceremony were we've
united halves into wholes, and suddenly
I do
spot a falling star, and wish
to be the twin of your essence
and for however long forever is,
drink the glittering moonlight in your eyes, if you'd
let me tell you everything I'm thinking,
and I'm thinking that,
wouldn't it be divinely suitable if
we, alone, together, both half of
the same constellation,
drifted about the snow-white night,
our dreams tumbling from our tongues like
a waterfall from the basket of
the water-bearer?