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Literature Text
you will love a woman
who uses the word
gossamer
too often. she will
diagnose dead artists' descents
into madness and laugh
too loudly at jokes
no one understands.
she will braid crowns of
flowers, she will write poems
in constellations, she will
try to walk like a dancer so
no one can hear her
leave. she will be
an ice sculpture, and when
she cries, you'll convince yourself
she's melting, she loves you, you've
changed her, you've
changed; she will wear you
like a comma, like
an incomplete thought,
like
a
pause
in her story, and
she will leave you wondering
what
you
did
wrong.
who uses the word
gossamer
too often. she will
diagnose dead artists' descents
into madness and laugh
too loudly at jokes
no one understands.
she will braid crowns of
flowers, she will write poems
in constellations, she will
try to walk like a dancer so
no one can hear her
leave. she will be
an ice sculpture, and when
she cries, you'll convince yourself
she's melting, she loves you, you've
changed her, you've
changed; she will wear you
like a comma, like
an incomplete thought,
like
a
pause
in her story, and
she will leave you wondering
what
you
did
wrong.
Literature
How to love a poet:
Expect them to be flawed,
a field of wild flowered-
imperfections, sticky
metaphors
& an inability
to speak.
Love them anyway.
Know that when they look at you
they are noticing the little things.
Your smile,
the sound of your voice,
the laugh lines—
bruises.
Know
Literature
.
she'll hold him tight tonight
and dread the coming mo(u)rning
Literature
Hyperaware
I know the thumping of blood in my fingers,
the twinge in my back,
the tension behind my calves far too well.
The bristle of cold is too much
but the silence without the fan is suffocating.
My blankets are too heavy,
settled over my torso like the rock in my chest
but I can’t sleep without the weight.
This awareness is a manifestation of my longing;
for your hands in my hair,
your warmth at my spine,
your shoes on my floor.
This is what I feel when I can’t feel you –
palpitations, vibrations,
fixations that drive me to insomnia.
Only the trains are any comfort,
plowing away into the night
screaming here I am; there I go
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Comments53
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Wow, the last part:
she will wear you
like a comma, like
an incomplete thought,
like
a
pause
in her story, and
she will leave you wondering
what
you
did
wrong.
Absolutely incredible!
she will wear you
like a comma, like
an incomplete thought,
like
a
pause
in her story, and
she will leave you wondering
what
you
did
wrong.
Absolutely incredible!