We speak in tongues, you and I.
We sip coffee from old paper cups and talk about the afterlife.
We bring our scalded mouths together and I taste the entire universe;
I hear static; everything around us is drowning in hot, syrupy light.
what have you done to me?
My hands are coming undone, my legs are wrapping themselves around your waist; I want to melt into the night sky;
I want to morph into something bigger, something whole and beautiful, I want to sink deep beneath the ocean and feel electric blue water flood my lungs.
There is sea-salt stuck in my throat and you are spilling aquamarine;
you are rolling waves around in the palms of your hands;
you ebb and flow gently against scarred skin.
I rest my head against your chest and
you say; here and now is safe
you say; ‘stay and we can paint stars onto our backs’
I run my fingers through your tangled hair and think about how much this feels like coming home.
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 9:15 AM UTC
We speak in tongues, you and I.
We sip coffee from old paper cups and talk about the afterlife.
We bring our scalded mouths together and I taste the entire universe;
I hear static; everything around us is drowning in hot, syrupy light.
what have you done to me?
My hands are coming undone, my legs are wrapping themselves around your waist; I want to melt into the night sky;
I want to morph into something bigger, something whole and beautiful, I want to sink deep beneath the ocean and feel electric blue water flood my lungs.
There is sea-salt stuck in my throat and you are spilling aquamarine;
you are rolling waves around in the palms of your hands;
you ebb and flow gently against scarred skin.
I rest my head against your chest and
you say; here and now is safe
you say; ‘stay and we can paint stars onto our backs’
I run my fingers through your tangled hair and think about how much this feels like coming home.
