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Post with 3 notes
Cremona Chimerical
Do other odd girls wrapped up in your time
retroactively inspect your genius hands?
Your palm, with pointed tips splayed gently grazing
A thing so pleasing to me, and disorienting
as the weighty meter changes that draw them forth,
Those small bodies lie heaving dark designs.
I can say it because I am in it and have been it,
but we are all raddled by keen notes on summer air
And it is easy to be fastly tied to being alive
and whether it matches what was in my head,
if I’m so dizzy to touch as, for me, your sonorous being,
if that ornamental body holds, for you, any flame to me.
I try, I hold any body compassionately,
but I hold that body like a downy lamb;
there is not a thing as soft as how it makes me feel.
Post reblogged from The Box of Chocolates with 6 notes
Color Theory
I’ve always been strong and why would I want to let you make me weak?
Not nice or easy or soft spoken or unbridled
Wrong, your telescope image of me is colored
Tinted
Missing purples and grays
You’re wrong, and why would you want to see that?
look you should read this girl’s poetry I have been stalking it and I like it
Source: the-box-of-chocolates
Post reblogged from Like Autumn Leaves... with 1,345 notes
There are sentences I want to start with your name. There are days like that, too.
Source: alreadyseenalreadyheard
Post with 1 note
Future Coast
I think it’s funny how you will be living so loudly
but I will walk quietly and I will die lonely.
Perhaps music will play above my grave,
ascending my stars, my heavens, my dreams
I rest, assume you’ll always have me
begrudging exotic beers and contraception.
But you are ink spots, thoughts aloft and aside
you are like grand fiction to my mind.
Post with 1 note
Closing Spring
Why am I staring
in the mirrors of other people?
In plain daylight, to a tender beat
You are heat tempered to grieve
like edges upon handles, drawn
Across ragged flesh on the backs of men
thrown under the voices in their heads.
Every imitative sound made the world break,
Made me and brought on each day
but that is not like my life;
There are no dusty golden tones
dredged up and made to look new,
Life is rather collisions on nights in June,
and darkness in tall houses where no men speak
And the brightest things there,
silences that are so silver, emptily shimmering
gracefully falling and causing
those of us with open hearts to needily eat away
precious lives that never meet us.
Lovely, Empty Eyes
While tautened strings, steel rings, smoke,
a sound embrace and hands on my bones
sit between lines that blur at half day, you
and other untruths move farther away
for I still cannot feel what was in you
when you saw that sky over nature,
when the last life breath left those lips,
of all the beautiful things
Nothing seething sparkles in your eye
or is lit by your words, even if
it stands by your cavernous heart.
You sit, unloving and causeless.
Post with 1 note
English Summer Rain
That weak wet sound on glass is just short of inspiring me.
It isn’t daring or dear to me, like a northwest downfall
or hearing you scrape strings under our tree.
This lowly Lone Star night drags on insipidly, and this moisture,
those dark clouds casting my favorite light
do little to entertain me now.
You can’t be close to everyone or I’d walk to you,
the things I want most are not close to me
or I’d spend every day under a sky that makes my heart ache.
You may not be close, but Clover. You see, sweets,
it won’t make you wrong and you sure aren’t untrustworthy,
you just may not be close to me.
Quote reblogged from The Box of Chocolates with 109 notes
I want to know you moved and breathed in the same world with me.
Source: pavorst
(and two without titles yet)
There are certain things that sit
planted in our bodies, having found us out.
Words and tones of voices, and flowers
drying against your rough hands,
Storm clouds and a shade of blue
that you have never seen the sky turn.
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