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Taylor Henry Aug 2018
I drank you in like you were a Paloma
Bitter, strong, hot in my gut
Something about you tasted like vacation
Something about you made me feel like I should chase you
With a lime
The salt on the rim and the salt in the sea- both cleansing and burning
Paradise has a slow death
It lies stagnant while I pack my suitcase
You chose to get lost here instead
Wherever I go, I'll always know
I kissed you the same way the tide kissed the shores
The same way my lips kissed the rim of those Palomas.
Taylor Henry Nov 2017
After she fed her flesh to the beasts
All that remained was bone
Even still, they picked their teeth with whatever was left
Until she was merely a rib wedged between a thirsty canine
Here lies the framework of the unchaste
Cracked clavicles scattered amongst the copper pine needles
Her fragmented femurs discarded into the frozen autumn saplings
With every passing sunrise comes another fallen leaf blushing with winter's approach
By the first snowfall, the outline of her has already capsized into the mire
One day
Spring will drape himself over the soil
Gracing the morning with a promise of enrichment
She will emerge newly entrenched
Diamonds of ice will thaw to reveal her cage dusted with florets
And she will effloresce, reborn
With her face towards a sky of entrancing tomorrows
The shadows shall cascade behind her
As she reforms into a kind of brave even the evergreens grow envious of;
An entity so free, that even the wild things will lose their appetite
Taylor Henry Oct 2017
I felt him the way I exhaled and destroyed the dandelions.
In the summer sun, everything was beautiful.
But by morning, I was covered in weeds.
With the rain, came taller grass
And heavier stones
And braver trees
And enough mud to sink into
To give back the life I shook by breathing.
Taylor Henry Mar 2017
Once, there was a balcony your body clutched like a tree limb
But there wasn't enough inertia in your heels
There wasn't enough sorrow in your heart
There wasn't enough of a gust to send you over.

Once, there was the earth my body burrowed into like an urchin
But there wasn't enough soil to cover me
There wasn't enough gravity to immerse me
There wasn't enough wanderlust to keep me digging.

More than once, we had sighed in the glow of a lonely moon
We had misconstrued misfortune for opportunity
And we had became immune to the idea of repose

More than once, we tasted salt; in tears, in seabeds, in seared skin of the heart
We felt faulted, in both spirit and in brooding sincerity
We thought the worries we were haunted by were causeless

We've bared scars on our palms from digging
From gripping on to any bit of the world to stop it from spinning
But when our fingers interlace, and our wounds overlap, you will find a map of home.

Once, we were on a balcony with a bottle of bourbon.
A gust of faith was enough to push you off the edge
A surrender was enough to unearth me.
And together we drown into the pool of how beautiful it is to get lost in vulnerability.
For you, my love. Thank you for giving in to me. Thank you for letting me save you, and in return, saving me.
Taylor Henry Apr 2016
There is a rusty I Love You in this hollow voice of mine
Like an old record in the jukebox in the corner of the tavern
I dust the binds of time off my skin and I spin wrecklessly
For you.

The Irish whisky croons how relentlessly your heart sinks into my sound
But the sober croak of morning deems my heartstrings out of tune
Cracked, dry
Yet still I sing,
For you.

Still I spin
And spin
Until dizziness is all there is
Because you turned my hum into a rumble
And although you're not drunk enough to drown in my melodies
I'll compass on this needle
Until the stars stand still
Until the stars lie silent
Until our symphony is the only echo we know.
Taylor Henry Nov 2015
I found it in the way my name stumbled out of your mouth like it had weak ankles.
Almost like it had been stuck in the hollows of your cheeks.
But it wasn’t stuck.
Just lingering.

I found it in the way you unfastened the brass buttons down my spine and slid the tough skin off my shoulders, like a wool sweater I never grew into.
Almost like I never knew how sticky and hot my woes were.
Until I saw them piled on the floor right at my feet.
The chill of the air hitting my bones.

I found it in the way you unraveled my grief, and used the same tattered thread to hem patience into your heartstrings.
Almost like the fabric of my intricacy kept you warm.
You and I.
The same cross-stitches of unvarnished truth.

I found it in the way you uprooted the weeds nestled in my soul to make light for the marigolds.
Almost like you always believed in my potential garden.
Despite the monsoon rain and my uncanny inability to tend.
There was always room for growth.

I found it in the way my hands extend towards you, until my fingers coil into vulnerability.
Almost like I sought solace in the holes of your palms.
Being entirely, immensely, forever
Tangled up in you.

I found it in the way the fog draping my irises lifted when your kisses graced the corners of my eyes.
Almost like you unveiled a galaxy of color I never knew I painted.
Brushstrokes of clarity.
A reverie of us.

I found it in the way you delicately dismantled all my fragments to polish them.
Almost like you salvaged me from my own wreckage.
All this time, I dreamt I was wandering.
But I was undoubtedly misplaced.
Tucked away in a wrinkle of solitude.

Until you, my love, unearthed me
And in return, I found my heart;
A vestige of our pearl in the oyster.
Taylor Henry May 2015
The clouds are the same shade of purple as her bruises on her knees
From stumbling around
Drunk. Always drunk
The sky spits on the roof of her top floor apartment
Heavy rain leaking from little cracks and corners of the ceiling
There's a *** on the kitchen floor
A bucket on the bathroom counter
An old ice cream tub on the couch
All collecting the steady drip from the walls
Sometimes she kisses and feels nothing
Sometimes she kisses and feels her ribs crack open
Most days, she feels hollow
You can see her, a smoking *** of boiling water
Her blood bubbles boiling to the top
Rusting thrift store cookware flooding onto the floor
Even after you empty all those buckets
They will always fill back up

****, I wish it would stop raining.
Suicide awareness. Self-inflicting wounds.
For all the pretty things that left too soon to see themselves bloom.
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