i sit up disheveled in clinging honeysuckle and jasmine to the
rattle of a streetcar in the back of my throat
dazedly making way through hair strands cast
on the ground claiming oracles that read:
laughter is warm sheets recording contours of my body -
The purpose of poetry is to remind us
how difficult it is to remain just one person.
-Czesław Miłosz, “Ars Poetica”
this is the chillest soul i’ve seen in awhile.
No I never thought we would be invincible, yet
we stitched promises onto loosening seams of fabricated
‘Woven’ we said.
The power we gave ourselves.
But there was never a promise of a spectacular end,
only that it would end. And so it has.
“Do not fall in love with people like me
we will take you to
museums and parks
and kiss you in every beautiful
place so that you can
never go back to them
without tasting us
like blood in your mouth”