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Literature Text
you're a cicada,
both in voice
hemmed to my eardrums,
and in(c)lined in the spaces
of a love
launched.
still age,
this divinity
is once in full
dual-noons
and this
is once in a lifetime
of many dues.
many hues
of the sky;
i feel who
you are:
drinking our whispers at dusk,
and swallowing the weight
of it all at dawn.
we are hiding alone
together,
in the light-
ness of new days
and the bright-
ness of closed eyes.
(because it's been said
a million times,
but you see everything clearly
when you're blind.)
lovestruck like lightning--
it struck twice before
we finally got it right.
encapsulate the heavens
in the pods of our mouths
as we hold it, breathless
we feel our longing lungs
through the past shades
of loneliness-- now open
blinds to a day
just beginning.
and the room is spinning
because this is a childlike
happiness that has bud its
head like a rose.
both in voice
hemmed to my eardrums,
and in(c)lined in the spaces
of a love
launched.
still age,
this divinity
is once in full
dual-noons
and this
is once in a lifetime
of many dues.
many hues
of the sky;
i feel who
you are:
drinking our whispers at dusk,
and swallowing the weight
of it all at dawn.
we are hiding alone
together,
in the light-
ness of new days
and the bright-
ness of closed eyes.
(because it's been said
a million times,
but you see everything clearly
when you're blind.)
lovestruck like lightning--
it struck twice before
we finally got it right.
encapsulate the heavens
in the pods of our mouths
as we hold it, breathless
we feel our longing lungs
through the past shades
of loneliness-- now open
blinds to a day
just beginning.
and the room is spinning
because this is a childlike
happiness that has bud its
head like a rose.
Literature
as satellites
stelliform, we watched
our supernova bodies
burn. constellations
formed from tooth and viscera -
stark satellites from bone-ash.
Literature
Lover.
you are
Christmas morning, every morning
and I'm not even Catholic --
but I know what it is
to wake up to the whole world singing
hallelujah,
hallelujah,
hallelujah.
Literature
Stories of feelings with no names - Revision
i.
The feeling you get the day after sending a letter, and you know there is no possible way that the recipient has received your message, let alone formulated time to write a reply. You still get just a little hopeful when you hear the mailman drive by. You rush out to the postbox a little too quickly and are disappointed by the pile of free coupons, bills, charity flyers, and a late Christmas card from your late Grandma Moses.
ii.
You lost your voice one day. You woke up to a hollow echo in the base your throat and knew you’d lost something special before you’d ever had a chance to say anything worthwhile. Y
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