(no subject)
there were times when i lost myself trying to find the end of night... mistaking the roads for my skin, and the sky as the covers of my eyes... times where a reflection does not seem like you... you don't just stop... not there, not there.
Staring at your eyes, i don't know whether to freeze in the calm blue or to burn in its reflected light... I am soothed by you (the long curves of desert dunes) and thrilled (the falling pebble shooting across the floor)
This is meant for those who sleep. Who find the ghosts of dreams seeping into the night, manifesting in the cold frost of their glasses, in crevices between every note of music. We find adventure, but will you find me? Disembodied yet so close to you i can feel your lungs expanding. We find adventure, but will you find me?
Paper hats and red crayons. Let's craft a story. I can tell you about the creation of sleep, its soft and quiet pull, the eclipse of the world by the endless black of your eyelids, a long time ago, but when i open my lips, dry from the desertification of the city, to speak to you... the newborn escaping has eyes as open as any tree to the stars. What i am really saying is I trust the exposure of such things to you...like the young skin of a mammal in the cold... like a cloth from the oceans of sand... Let me into your heart... and into the eager mind...it is a bizarre place in the scathing neon lights and the too-too concerned billboard ads that block the moon from us. What the city has stolen from me, i can find in you. The solar and lunar lights return in the form of your eyes. All of the milk of the valleys travels across your skin. Every fruit bright with sugar in your smile... The spaces that talk to me, the shrines and the inquisitive animals in the words you speak. Rainbows at every curve of your body. Engulfing morning warmth in your concern and the awe of the distant evening in your knowings. As i finish the story, I wonder what am i to you? What songs can i give you across the far rugged mountains... the jagged teeth of this world... what gift will this tramontane have to offer?
We peel through the roads like citrus, like a close shave, like some other metaphor that made you feel you were flying a bit as we came back with our seats on low... Sundaes and fries. Every image elegant against the mind... like the watching the webs of cortex glisten with hanging drops from the mist at dawn. You are dawn, eternal.
So it felt so right it had to be out of place. The new day still under the blackness of before... the silent world roaring with the chant of the revolving heaven... where did your fingers go? I want to hold them. where did your memories rest? Let me ask them questions. Follow me into the where the shadows fall away as i follow you to where the ground grows bright. I remember tossing invisible volley balls back and forth. Whether it was the lack of imaginary exercise combined with jumping and running across the sandpit or whether it was the feeling of escaping my shell to find that space... the space in between that places us... i lost my breath.
You came towards me... and i brought you beside me.
Let's talk. Let's say things... and... if i can't speak it, i want to catch the words between my lips and your lips... i felt something i wish to understand. So light and small... but something that won't let go... the feeling of being miles above a canyon... of standing... beneath the immense zenith above you, the clouds... the wind... and beginning to rise... and rise.
It is a type of flight...
I keep to keep such things close to me... want to bring them within and make something incredible... where it grows... and escapes like the humming cry of a trumpet... like a butterfly from what you thought was a leaf...
like what happens when two separate hands... suddenly meet each other...
like the meaning of a song with no words and a title that does not translate.
Staring at your eyes, i don't know whether to freeze in the calm blue or to burn in its reflected light... I am soothed by you (the long curves of desert dunes) and thrilled (the falling pebble shooting across the floor)
This is meant for those who sleep. Who find the ghosts of dreams seeping into the night, manifesting in the cold frost of their glasses, in crevices between every note of music. We find adventure, but will you find me? Disembodied yet so close to you i can feel your lungs expanding. We find adventure, but will you find me?
Paper hats and red crayons. Let's craft a story. I can tell you about the creation of sleep, its soft and quiet pull, the eclipse of the world by the endless black of your eyelids, a long time ago, but when i open my lips, dry from the desertification of the city, to speak to you... the newborn escaping has eyes as open as any tree to the stars. What i am really saying is I trust the exposure of such things to you...like the young skin of a mammal in the cold... like a cloth from the oceans of sand... Let me into your heart... and into the eager mind...it is a bizarre place in the scathing neon lights and the too-too concerned billboard ads that block the moon from us. What the city has stolen from me, i can find in you. The solar and lunar lights return in the form of your eyes. All of the milk of the valleys travels across your skin. Every fruit bright with sugar in your smile... The spaces that talk to me, the shrines and the inquisitive animals in the words you speak. Rainbows at every curve of your body. Engulfing morning warmth in your concern and the awe of the distant evening in your knowings. As i finish the story, I wonder what am i to you? What songs can i give you across the far rugged mountains... the jagged teeth of this world... what gift will this tramontane have to offer?
We peel through the roads like citrus, like a close shave, like some other metaphor that made you feel you were flying a bit as we came back with our seats on low... Sundaes and fries. Every image elegant against the mind... like the watching the webs of cortex glisten with hanging drops from the mist at dawn. You are dawn, eternal.
So it felt so right it had to be out of place. The new day still under the blackness of before... the silent world roaring with the chant of the revolving heaven... where did your fingers go? I want to hold them. where did your memories rest? Let me ask them questions. Follow me into the where the shadows fall away as i follow you to where the ground grows bright. I remember tossing invisible volley balls back and forth. Whether it was the lack of imaginary exercise combined with jumping and running across the sandpit or whether it was the feeling of escaping my shell to find that space... the space in between that places us... i lost my breath.
You came towards me... and i brought you beside me.
Let's talk. Let's say things... and... if i can't speak it, i want to catch the words between my lips and your lips... i felt something i wish to understand. So light and small... but something that won't let go... the feeling of being miles above a canyon... of standing... beneath the immense zenith above you, the clouds... the wind... and beginning to rise... and rise.
It is a type of flight...
I keep to keep such things close to me... want to bring them within and make something incredible... where it grows... and escapes like the humming cry of a trumpet... like a butterfly from what you thought was a leaf...
like what happens when two separate hands... suddenly meet each other...
like the meaning of a song with no words and a title that does not translate.