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Literature Text
I can't help but marvel
at the way you wound your roots
around my thighs, always pressing
deeper, thirsting for more.
But you also turned
your bright leaves to my heart,
and if you keep that up
your daisy-face is sure to wither
before spring is through.
at the way you wound your roots
around my thighs, always pressing
deeper, thirsting for more.
But you also turned
your bright leaves to my heart,
and if you keep that up
your daisy-face is sure to wither
before spring is through.
Literature
Ephemeral
1.
i wake up and tear the sun
from the sky like this is a
grade school art project and i
am supposed to share something
worthy of myself-- i think
there is a black hole nestled
betwixt my lonely ribs,
devouring anything alive.
on days like these, my greatest weakness
is weakness and i am my own fatal flaw.
we live by mantras and my ears ring
‘i hate every piece of me’
(he put his head to my chest
and heard me dying;
call me beautiful now)
2.
we are the false ends of sunken
universes, we are pieces of
dead galaxies and you are
stardust, god, you are
beautiful.
i believe that this is all just a dream
by someone with an
Literature
love poem for a poet
and if you ever complain
of writer's block
I will hold you
your chest pressed to mine
close and warm and quiet
and trace every word
that's been eluding you
onto the blank page
of your back
Literature
softened
the sky whispers,
ribbons of crystalline quiet,
same shade as the angel dust
you shivered every time we were
alone.
in the darkness, we were
sorry birds searching for
open dawns. you, the
swan, me, the
raven,
black as night and
just as hopeful.
and there were poems
written in your skin, universes
blooming in your hands; your eyes
were a December sunrise saving me
from any sleep.
I’ve decided that
people are a composition of
all their greatest memories—and you,
you were always the most
beautiful piece of
me.
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Comments16
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love the first stanza!