(no subject)
today i wore winter clothes. like for real. i was extremely proud of myself.
if i could capture a blanket in a poem i would carry it in my pocket all day long. i think one of the most romantic gifts any boy could ever give me would be a well-thought out blanket. nothing on earth makes me feel so safe.
she knows it
acquainted briefly, her legs gracefully take her away;
discontinued feelings continue filling copiously empty frames
without permission or discretion,
a silent enemy has engraved her lungs with braille,
she gasps, attempting to read how to breathe;
illiterate fingers fail her frail breath,
broken and collapsing under hesitant hands.
it’s (ordinarily) the bumpy, impossible words
that cover from surface to surface, becoming more
mingled with liquid solutes and staccato-ed breaths
raised to the exterior. solutions map themselves
muddily across innocently pink flesh
crumpling from pounds of regret
spelled out plainly beneath her fingers.