breathe in mercury veins and melt into the centre of remote quasars with their chestnut eyes and midnight grins. evening dusk settles into your pores and a lifting of your lips is something no one can surpass. all i wish is to be able to live longer instead of waiting for the inevitable death–i never want this interlude, this valse, to end. space chopin plays in the street corners of stars and moons are illuminated by the smoke from the sun's cigarettes. the cosmos are not used to your absence, and neither am i.
•
(95 words this is short)
i have to keep telling myself that i
don't write for others
YOU ARE READING
paraphernalia
Poetrypretentious poetry. FOREWARNING: this was written over three years. my style changes dramatically, as does everything else. quality of pieces varies.
