I am a velvet pocket full of echoes,
craving a light I have not yet tasted.
I want a love that arrives like a gossamer storm,
all stardust and silver-bells,
to rattle the windows of my quiet ribcage.
I seek a bewitchment of the ordinary
to be looked at and truly beheld,
as if I were a secret map
drawn in invisible ink upon the wind.
I am famished for a luminous kind of touch,
one that turns my blood into nectar
and my sighs into sonnets.
Bring me a heart that beats in riddles,
a soul that smells of clove and moon-mist,
for I am weary of the heavy, dusty earth.
I want to be enraptured;
I want to be the moon
tethered to your gravity by a single,
shimmering thread.
Jan 3
Jan 3, 2026 at 2:45 AM UTC
I am a velvet pocket full of echoes,
craving a light I have not yet tasted.
I want a love that arrives like a gossamer storm,
all stardust and silver-bells,
to rattle the windows of my quiet ribcage.
I seek a bewitchment of the ordinary
to be looked at and truly beheld,
as if I were a secret map
drawn in invisible ink upon the wind.
I am famished for a luminous kind of touch,
one that turns my blood into nectar
and my sighs into sonnets.
Bring me a heart that beats in riddles,
a soul that smells of clove and moon-mist,
for I am weary of the heavy, dusty earth.
I want to be enraptured;
I want to be the moon
tethered to your gravity by a single,
shimmering thread.