Your legs are an uprooted tree, longing for the taste of soil.
The water won’t flow in an ocean filled with stars, the spaces between them
dark like ink on paper, lines drawn through a multitude of times,
too many words occupying the same space so that nothing exists
but a verbose blackness. *Your hands are wisps of smoke,
edgeless clouds that coil around me and dampen my bare skin.*
The current is cut by the planets, interrupted by the nebulae,
pushed by the galaxies and surrounded on all sides, at some point,
by land: the ambit of the observable universe.
Your body
sinks;
the universe ripples
and falls,
forming around you;
the heart in your chest
gently pushes,
gently pulls,
shifting the planets and stars
that envelop you.
Your toes burrow into the sand,
your arms creep through the skies,
and all at once I see that
everything is beautiful.
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 12:16 AM UTC
Your legs are an uprooted tree, longing for the taste of soil.
The water won’t flow in an ocean filled with stars, the spaces between them
dark like ink on paper, lines drawn through a multitude of times,
too many words occupying the same space so that nothing exists
but a verbose blackness. *Your hands are wisps of smoke,
edgeless clouds that coil around me and dampen my bare skin.*
The current is cut by the planets, interrupted by the nebulae,
pushed by the galaxies and surrounded on all sides, at some point,
by land: the ambit of the observable universe.
Your body
sinks;
the universe ripples
and falls,
forming around you;
the heart in your chest
gently pushes,
gently pulls,
shifting the planets and stars
that envelop you.
Your toes burrow into the sand,
your arms creep through the skies,
and all at once I see that
everything is beautiful.
poem, poetry, prose, words, art, sunday, love, pseudo, metaphor, life, love, heart,