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Literature Text
my love,
i swear, there is a ghost beneath my bones.
she slides around the rungs of my ribs, gentle like a lover's hands but cold, so unlike yours. i lay in bed at night, days after you have gone, your jacket and seven blankets struggling to keep me warm -but her arctic touch seeps deeper, slides its way past my lips and settles in places i swore only you could touch. and i am left gasping, arching, desperate for a body one hundred and thirty eight miles away, a voice that doesn't seem nearly as warm after traveling through the airwaves, a spring that only exists in your arms.
because i miss laughter, i miss your eyes, i miss the feeling of thawing after forty days in the tundra of my own heart, and two in yours.
i swear, there is a ghost beneath my bones.
she slides around the rungs of my ribs, gentle like a lover's hands but cold, so unlike yours. i lay in bed at night, days after you have gone, your jacket and seven blankets struggling to keep me warm -but her arctic touch seeps deeper, slides its way past my lips and settles in places i swore only you could touch. and i am left gasping, arching, desperate for a body one hundred and thirty eight miles away, a voice that doesn't seem nearly as warm after traveling through the airwaves, a spring that only exists in your arms.
because i miss laughter, i miss your eyes, i miss the feeling of thawing after forty days in the tundra of my own heart, and two in yours.
Literature
binary
I am so bewildered.
I write about this often, how I am
stuck between the fingernails of
zeros and ones,
and how the eulogies go
dim and gray when you want them to,
how the only death I can really mourn
is my own.
I want to find a frequency between
rows of numbers and your breath,
a rhythm in the product of a phosphorescent gasp
or how I once found vibrancy in a painting of
water lilies.
They change as you walk back and forth,
someone once explained to me.
the focus shifts.
far away, an elegant scene is painted in
reflections on water.
but when you get close, it is all brush-strokes and
turbulence and the dissonant symphony
Literature
Fathomless
i.
Her pale sea-foam dress swirls around bone white knees, caught in an endless maelstrom. It is fashioned from the salted tears of a thousand forsaken sailors and beaded together with stolen pearlstaken from the darkness of the sea's deepest chasms and hidden, suffocating cavernsand seems to undulate with nothing less than the utterly formidable wrath of Poseidon himself.
She is as indisputably unfathomable as the ocean itself, with mottled blue lips, eyelashes laced with droplets of brine and damp hair that twists in limp rivulets down her back. When the curling wind brushes that seaweed hair to the side, it reveals
Literature
Drizzling
The grey glaze of a
pre-dawn chorus —
blackbirds,
and an overcast aubade.
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Comments12
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Oh goodness this is absolutely beautiful.