She is me. Am I capable of rescuing myself? Our browned bodies would be wrapped in the deep cerulean and indigo silver of the heavy current, amorphous and shifting...but never dropping us, always supporting and buoying. We would wash up, spent, on that abandoned secret shore just beyond the iris fields. We would listen to the stars burning and the water running and we would drift into sleep on the white sand with the jasmine and the fireflies, our skin kissed dry with the last warm summer breeze.
Aurora? Really--noYou may elicit inexplicable poetry, but I still have yet to feel anything but nuanced dark.
Will we? Can we? Such a thing is not possible. What does it open?
The necessity of such--the visceral warm and cold and your skin and everything is, yes, one thing. And every inhalation shocks and soothes me open, clean and full of solitude. I can taste the dripping dew-covered evergreens miles away, and feel the earth pause in its orbit to make the whole of all new again. We should all be so lucky. I should stand in the rain.
Aurora? Really--noYou may elicit inexplicable poetry, but I still have yet to feel anything but nuanced dark.
Will we? Can we? Such a thing is not possible. What does it open?
The necessity of such--the visceral warm and cold and your skin and everything is, yes, one thing. And every inhalation shocks and soothes me open, clean and full of solitude. I can taste the dripping dew-covered evergreens miles away, and feel the earth pause in its orbit to make the whole of all new again. We should all be so lucky. I should stand in the rain.
Reply
Leave a comment