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Literature Text
Meet me in the river
and let the tide take us
to a submarine field of
dandelions drizzled with light,
and alight ourselves as
we breathe in the fresh water.
Meet me in the desert
and let our thirst consume us,
let the wind wear us down
to mere humanity
until our only thoughts are
the crackle of dunes shifting
slowly over our bodies
as we become the sand.
Meet me in the tallest tree
right where the tips of the leaves
meet the sun and
we will jump down, down
to the forest floor where
stencils of our bodies mingle
in the musty foliage,
the fallen with the fallen.
Meet me in the deepest cave
and we will extinguish all lights
so only our inhalation
and the echo of earth
can be heard as condensation
above drips onto our
goosebumped skin and we
embrace the darkness.
Meet me in the sunrise
and wear only a strip of
the brightest stained glass
from the highest steeple window
so our colors will dance along
the pastures and clock towers
and our smiles together will
rebirth the night to day.
and let the tide take us
to a submarine field of
dandelions drizzled with light,
and alight ourselves as
we breathe in the fresh water.
Meet me in the desert
and let our thirst consume us,
let the wind wear us down
to mere humanity
until our only thoughts are
the crackle of dunes shifting
slowly over our bodies
as we become the sand.
Meet me in the tallest tree
right where the tips of the leaves
meet the sun and
we will jump down, down
to the forest floor where
stencils of our bodies mingle
in the musty foliage,
the fallen with the fallen.
Meet me in the deepest cave
and we will extinguish all lights
so only our inhalation
and the echo of earth
can be heard as condensation
above drips onto our
goosebumped skin and we
embrace the darkness.
Meet me in the sunrise
and wear only a strip of
the brightest stained glass
from the highest steeple window
so our colors will dance along
the pastures and clock towers
and our smiles together will
rebirth the night to day.
Literature
07.30.19
so i just want to go home.
i think i’ve written about this enough
to say this and not sound
pretentious: i’d burn it down
for just another moment
to curl up in the cavity of your chest.
so call me a sinner. i used
to bend over backwards
to draw my wings back on.
if i have loved hard enough to fall
darling, maybe you should
reconsider. for my tongue is
apple sweet and desires
nothing but the pull of your mouth,
and the wild taste of the water;
i will not break anew
from this baptism.
i hope you know that you
cannot change me. for what
am i but solid. who would i be
without the air underneath me.
Literature
04.22.20
I am an imperfect thing
sometimes
old shadows
still cling to me
there are ghosts
that rattle chains
and linger
in my head
their tongues are snakes
and oh
the things they say
hissing in
whispers
that everybody leaves
that they
are the only
ones who'll stay
(to remind me that)
I am an imperfect thing
.
but love
you can
let down your
guard
I see
who you are
no pedestals
here
I will
kiss
all your scars
for
I am an imperfect thing
Literature
21.15 Mnemonics
He awoke to sunlight in his eyes and the smell of her. Every day, he would stay in bed just a little bit longer than he ought to, just to bask in the glory of smell she had left behind. It was roses and mint and sandalwood and woman and a million other things he couldn’t have described, even if he tried, but it was her, and he would never forget it, as long as he lived, and probably not for a long time after he died.
But every day, the smell grew fainter, the sheets seemed to grow colder, and it was one more day since the last time he woke with her actually there.
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Published in The Atlas 2010
Purchase here.
Wrote this last summer,
one of the first pieces of poetry I've been proud of.
If you like it, check out the rest of The Atlas!
Purchase here.
Wrote this last summer,
one of the first pieces of poetry I've been proud of.
If you like it, check out the rest of The Atlas!
© 2011 - 2024 dialtonepoetry
Comments2
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Absolutely gorgeous flow and imagery.