how you can manage to know so much by alternativemeanings, literature
Literature
how you can manage to know so much
she's barely an inch taller - but still taller -
squinting at the horizon line and heaving tobacco smoke
through resin coated lungs that should belong to a
fourty three year old smoker, not an eighteen year old
graduate
she laughs the loudest when others cast glances
and hushed whispers
and never misses the chance to tell you
she couldn't possibly give less
of a shit
she likes convenience store mints;
the round white ones you'd find
at the bottom of grandma's purse that tasted like
dust and chemically sweetened perfume,
and home
she went to a school where "dyke"
was spat like poison at her feet
but knew exactly what to say when three
hot steam fades
from the cup
dense with the seasons
of leaves
darjeeling comfort
inhaled by the morning
as the city wakes
itself to a brightness
of milk and honey
I smile and bring the
sun's fragrant warmth
to my lips
the eyepatch and the handcuffs by Satah, literature
Literature
the eyepatch and the handcuffs
his hands have promised
to wipe off every fingerprint
your last lover left on you
he has sworn he will
wear gloves, when he needs to,
and pay attention to the instructions on the boxes
"this side up"
and "fragile"
and you have sworn
you will try to let him
i hear your bodies whispering these things to each ot
Topaz
Rare blue butterfly wings flickering, between
our little girl's elegant cornflower gloved hands, her
husky colored eyes greet the ocean's tide.
Cardinals singing their morning chorus, with
your Tsailes' soft melodies filling the woods, where
bubbling brooks groan in the foreground.
Butterscotch melting on my burning lips, your kiss
Honeycomb sweetness embracing my tongue, you entwine
Hot, soothing peach tea sliding down my throat, you slide.
Intimate fingers through buffalo hair, your chest
Reckless abandon grasped within your kisses, my breast
Breathless confessions as our hips join as one.
You're a constant volcano of
Goldenrod
fireflies erratically sign their names
inside a jar that once held pickled beets.
On a Georgian night,
katydids screech chamber music
Mozart forgot to write
on his five staffed bars.
The music reminds me of the tart
taste of grapefruit seeping slowly into
my mouth, and I swallow it with delight.
But the world becomes a jar
into which I scribble my name,
as if writing it will somehow
make me free.
You told me once
you would break my stars,
tear them from the sky and devour them
s l o w l y.
I neglected to tell you
they all had their own feelings
and your bruises form my own constellation
in the quiet valleys of my firefly skin.
I am the milky way.
And you, my sweet-
You are nothing more
than a dead star
with a pretty name.
incandescence will fall upon your sweet serenade fingers at
breaking tides of rigid seas a thousand oceans away from
eternally falling waters; a water-fall free of falling hearts.
leave your memories in the high skies to freeze and fade
into gossamer wanderers of the night sky. so let it all go. we'll be
evanescent - we'll burn & die & blow away, but the falling dust of you&i will begin a
vagabond dance so you can breathe faith into me, and bring me back down to
earth once more.
We lost electricity on the night you left me
and I spent the night curled up against the rain,
drinking in the slack of damp green winds
in our treasured driftwood home of mist.
I had to come to think of time
as a medium and my thoughts as
imperfect and cursive. It was a wrinkled medium,
a mediocrity of sunken breath: words condensing
into droplets that so contorted my teary lenses
that I couldn't tell that you were turning towards me
with a sound, the sound a book makes
when its leaves are rustled against the grain.
Tonight my body lingers on the edge of the ocean
like a gasp; New Jersey's throaty highways
bear my rosefelt thou