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Literature Text
Your empty gaze was the crack in the road,
staring past the pool colored
almost the same shade as last summer's paint job
meant to cover up the scratches
you left on the passenger door
when you were one tequila past sober.
I am a fly trapped in this spiderweb crack
that catches the blue-red urgency of
midnight sirens that you summoned without speaking.
They can't drown out the soundtrack
of our last sixteen seconds,
all caught in my head as if to prove
I don't want it there.
You looked up from letting your fingers linger
on the radio dial when your song came on,
laughing about how it reminded you of cotton candy
and your first boyfriend's cologne,
when your summer eyes caught the headlights,
like stained glass in full sun,
and all you could say was
"Oh."
You always talked about how
if you had three wishes you'd spend one on flying,
but I don't think this is what you meant.
I still have dreams about you telling me
the experience wasn't worth it.
I still reach for telephone to tell you
about that nightmare,
beg you to wish for money instead before
I remember how you looked out of place
in a mahogany box, in your floral dress.
I'm not sure what a sinking heart sounds like,
but I imagine it sounds like a car crash.
staring past the pool colored
almost the same shade as last summer's paint job
meant to cover up the scratches
you left on the passenger door
when you were one tequila past sober.
I am a fly trapped in this spiderweb crack
that catches the blue-red urgency of
midnight sirens that you summoned without speaking.
They can't drown out the soundtrack
of our last sixteen seconds,
all caught in my head as if to prove
I don't want it there.
You looked up from letting your fingers linger
on the radio dial when your song came on,
laughing about how it reminded you of cotton candy
and your first boyfriend's cologne,
when your summer eyes caught the headlights,
like stained glass in full sun,
and all you could say was
"Oh."
You always talked about how
if you had three wishes you'd spend one on flying,
but I don't think this is what you meant.
I still have dreams about you telling me
the experience wasn't worth it.
I still reach for telephone to tell you
about that nightmare,
beg you to wish for money instead before
I remember how you looked out of place
in a mahogany box, in your floral dress.
I'm not sure what a sinking heart sounds like,
but I imagine it sounds like a car crash.
Literature
sweaterse
when you've a love
in repose,
all quiets
are woven together.
all worries and
worships and
weathering
kept, cared,
covered.
every summer
warms, every winter
draws closer.
and the silences
sweeter than
heaven.
Literature
frosted glass
you need not
breathe or bloom
for anyone
but yourself
love you are
already
the brightest
thing in my life
light
waiting for light
but I know how the cold
settles in
brittling bones
and glaciating
skin
how it sometimes feels like
you'll never know warmth again
leaving you lost
in daze
opacifying gaze
with a scrim of
ice
across your
eyes
like frosted glass
love let me
stay close
until it's
passed
and though I can not
sing you
any nearer
to daylight
nor hold back
the black
I will hold you
through the night
I will
sit with you
in the darkness
for as long
as it may
last
Literature
What Things Cost
What Things Cost the best things in life are the farthest thing from free; they cost everything i know this as i wake up, aching in the same position we eased back down to earth in; powering down, still entangled we do adjust, eventually, but not away and i focus just long enough into the dark, to realize that we still have a few hours left to sleep here, the rise and fall of your breath, against me slows time, fogs my ability to fear anything but its departure and i know the act of making memories like these only defers the pooling pain of the present deeper into the trench into the dark seafloor mix of distorted time and the lost lonely continents that, in their descent, left behind the very same spirit and power vacuums we’ve settled into i know a day is brewing below that will one day rise to strike me down, like the earth pounds a single raindrop into mist i know little, yet, of what things cost, little, but enough to not let go
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Written based on a prompt by the wonderfully talented You can find the prompt in her journal, here! [link]
Comments21
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"I'm not sure what a sinking heart sounds like,
but I imagine it sounds like a car crash."
You inspire me muchly, you know.
but I imagine it sounds like a car crash."
You inspire me muchly, you know.