we keep still. adolescent gods
of skin and splendor and dewy oak
counting the worlds we will conquer
once our wings grow. and softly
you say that eternity is somewhere here
in the moonlight and air, that it could be ours
if i would just lean in close and take it.
- the dust dances too
this orbit of atoms, yours and mine,
pulses and electrical patterns
(there are suns less bright than this)
the verses we write when we run
arms spread and winged,
leaving traces of light behind.
how do i show my love with these lungs?
the whispers of calloused words
and clumsy lips
can move the sea
(and light heaven)
there is a rhythm we share,
perfect and flawed,
a way we love and breathe,
as if we are both gods and animals.
-the dust dances too
i write with horizons,
and burning skies.
what a dangerous place this,
what i have carved
a whisper in your hand, a kiss,
it is all i have to give.
— the dust dances too
words i can never spell: resteraunt and rythymh.
if one has children, they are able to:
so yeah. time to have some babies.
there are lies in light,
refractions of rabbits
that kiss the mind and dance
poison dreams to awake to.
don’t get lost. there is poetry
inside you, thunder. lightning.
glass is not always transparent,
it does not show
your most beautiful parts.
and this is the only love i have,