Your eyes are incalescent fireflies.
Even before you touched me, I belonged to you; all you had to do was look at me.
— Louise Glück
You are a dream etched in flesh.………………………..
there is a summer
growing in synapses.
…………..a pair of diminutive cochlea-correspondent
…………..and a Gorgon is born.
I love you, always. Time is nothing.
― Audrey Niffenegger, The Time Traveler’s Wife
exhales plastic luminescence
……………….(love graffiti-ed on skin)
the moon is a head of ash.
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past 11, “i hate family weddings”,
i want to shout. irritated, i daub cotton on
stubborn mascara eyes-
“…a job in the north. L.
he will be leaving” a découpage of murmurs-
hair untoweled, i rush outside
“what’s his name again?” dad asks,
“L,” and suddenly the sky comes crashing black
“you sure, Mr. X, it’s him leaving?” the words choke-
“guy in the green ‘ouse? him? you talkin’ ’bout him?”
my mouth is so dry i can
almost taste blood and
his reply stings the super moon.
and her amber is lost.
i hold my head in my hands.
to stem the spinning.
retch. suck in parcels of no-oxygen.
the streets fall bare.
i can’t cry.
i sway in a rhythm, sleep hanged,
spent on pills, afraid-
if i let go of my knees,
if i even move the tiniest fraction of an inch
i might physically break.
Her kiss was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering.
― Nicole Krauss
To the Medusa Man:
you love me.
times have changed.
i haven’t a question.
i haven’t an answer.
or kill me.
tonight i have you wrapped
against my calf.
that winter was wide-eyed,
kiting upwards through alphabets of jazz-
that was a different continent,
pulsing wild across maps, this friendship-
remember chasing stars?
of tea? and endless nights rummaging
for a cigarette-
and then you found me,
pixie-haired, blowing bubbles
from behind your thick paperback
and asked (in a breath) if i’d
let you sleep inside my mouth.
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and this is your season.
come! Spring’s Terpsichore!
let your feet beat this
come! dance upon last night’s rain!
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