untitled, may 2017
I like that you speak to her in kisses,
a love language formed out of metaphors delivered by lips that never speak, only communicate by physical touches, the most beautiful poetry living at the tip of tongues, cities from novels yet to be composed built between molar mountains -
until a library is building like a scream.
and you must drain your head of this story through long, leisurely sentences, until you have spent countless rainy afternoons, sharing the endless library in your brain
- written late afternoon, almost evening, on the cusp of being high, in a childhood friend's tree house
YOU ARE READING
Eventide
Poesíaa little collection of the poems and prose that stuck, the ones I can't un-memorize. written at eventide. (Cover photo taken by me, please leave it where it is)
