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If we had forever to entwine ourselves In the same way the Alps pierce the heavens Tearing at this schism of sky We could shed our skin into the Dance of the wind as it whistles Through the wind-chime collision Of our skysung bones You are already dressed as an angel And I can see you Fumbling to find the halo You keep in your purse in case boys like me With amber harvest moon eyes come knocking At the mountain cathedral of your lips There is a choir in your belly That sings in the language Of sunset summer evenings But I want to rewind you back To the bare budding of spring And do to you What April does to the cherry trees Please I am an aurora blown south To arch you into St Elmo’s fire So let’s back bend ourselves into an ember To remember that life Is a fleeting wildfire of a dream But when you wake Don’t you still want to taste The smoke On your lips
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Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 11:26 AM UTC
What Fingers said to the Inside of Thigh
If we had forever to entwine ourselves In the same way the Alps pierce the heavens Tearing at this schism of sky We could shed our skin into the Dance of the wind as it whistles Through the wind-chime collision Of our skysung bones You are already dressed as an angel And I can see you Fumbling to find the halo You keep in your purse in case boys like me With amber harvest moon eyes come knocking At the mountain cathedral of your lips There is a choir in your belly That sings in the language Of sunset summer evenings But I want to rewind you back To the bare budding of spring And do to you What April does to the cherry trees Please I am an aurora blown south To arch you into St Elmo’s fire So let’s back bend ourselves into an ember To remember that life Is a fleeting wildfire of a dream But when you wake Don’t you still want to taste The smoke On your lips
eliot-greene
Written by
American
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 11:26 AM UTC
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