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Jul 2018
the endless fields of larkspur & lily;
the gentle sounds we make when we do not fear
being heard.

in some stolen moment, our backs blinding
against the sun; our mouths
sweetened ripe just like the things
we have not yet made;

a lightness made gossamer wings &
that place where we forget everything
but taking flight.

this whole of the aching sky & more,
the bounds beyond which we dare not or
have not yet touched.

& out of the blue,
ribbons of light,
a forgotten stream of honey, or love
that we have not yet made.

our bodies an offering; a
minute harvest summered &
reaped before we are able to see
what we have done.
*the boys are back in town playing from a beat up jukebox in the corner as i slam shots of well ***** & maintain a visceral & prolonged eye contact w/ you*
anyway i love bees & i love poetry & i'm glad that i'm finally able to write something worthwhile.
Written by
iva  20/F/Seattle
   blue mercury, ---, b and ---
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