When light met the dark
and saw that it was beautiful—
not emptiness, but branches
rising, twisting toward a breathing sky,
a tree pulsing
with blood and sap,
rooted deeply into the quiet earth
like veins beneath skin,
like the unseen rivers
inside our own bodies,
flowing ceaselessly,
circulating life.
I kissed a girl today,
but not just any girl—
a girl whose lips
made words bloom
into fields I've never walked before;
whose breath mingled
with mine, the way
morning touches night
and suddenly everything
is dawn.
This was more ambitious
than poetry itself—
blood moving in circuits,
the warmth of life,
her heart beating beneath her ribs,
each pulse whispering,
I am here,
and in that moment
I was no longer separate
from trees, from rivers,
from the soft grace of darkness
meeting light.
It was something
more than words,
more than the gentle force
of my mouth pressed to hers—
it was seeing, finally,
that every darkness holds a living thing,
that every touch is an opening,
every breath shared
is the universe
whispering into existence,
"you are here,
and beautiful."
*pulls away, and kisses again*
When light met the dark,
it did not recoil, did not shy away—
it opened its hands,
touched the black silk of shadow,
and found it was warm.
There, in the space between,
a tree stood breathing,
not just existing, but living,
pulling the sky through its veins,
exhaling the history of the stars.
I swear I heard it whisper—
or maybe it was just the wind
stroking the leaves like a lover's fingers,
like lips waking something forgotten.
I kissed a girl today.
But not just any girl.
A girl whose name I want to carve into the air,
whose breath I want to memorize
like the way the moon memorizes the tides.
I kissed her, and it was not just lips,
not just skin,
but blood remembering itself,
circulating in rhythms older than language.
There are things we say with touch
that words could never hold—
the way her pulse ran into mine,
the way our shadows blurred on the pavement,
like dusk swallowing daylight,
like the moment light met dark
and saw that it was beautiful.
*pulls away, looks at birds soaring through the sky, talks about blood circulation...kisses more*
Birds gather toward her
as if called home by gravity,
drawn not by flight alone
but by the heartbeat beneath her skin.
They circle softly, wings brushing air
like words whispered in awe,
settling near her presence,
recognizing something sacred—
light nesting gently
in the sanctuary of shadow.
They knew her before I did.
They gathered in the branches above,
not in fear, not in haste,
but as if drawn to something familiar,
something luminous beneath her skin.
They sang—not to call, not to warn,
but to echo the pulse of her breath,
the rhythm of something older than time.
And when she turned,
even the wind shifted,
even the sky leaned in to listen,
to kiss her.
