the day before the war i woke
to your face pressed
against mine, the whole
sky weighing
down on us,
cracked open like the
bark of a walnut
this is what i said to
your opiate face, the
sharp dark of your hair,
the tremors that came
& went like a thousand
disasters on the far away
planet of your body -
i am tired of the sea side
saw mill of your love, ricochet
romance, every fragment,
every shrapnel shell, all
the broken birds outside
our window
of the way you stir in your sleep;
lightly, lightly,
how my heart swings open
on rusty hinges
i am bad at not wanting
you always, another thing
i said while you slept, the
old sun creeping onto
the bed, swelling & sick
from devotion
also this: your
eyes falling open,
the bastion or siren,
every old sore or
wound blooming
open, the whole
fine day between
us & blood shed,
your smile
which never
comes
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agooduniverse posted this Yes, for the fallen ones.
Summer.
That genius only comes along in storms of fabled foreign tongues.
In my bedroom.
For as long as I've lived, I've dreamt of the stars.
But for the longest time, I've wondered. What do the stars dream of?
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