Thursday, November 24, 2011


i feel translucent
carved out like the inside of a pumpkin

propped up by pillows
i cannot feel anything else

in my headphones
i am listening to the sound of rain

wanting to slide so far down into my bed
that i can no longer see any light

later, in a city street
resting wearisome limbs over wearisome limbs

we speak of things
with breaths shallow and urgent
words like water that wanted to return
to oceans, rivers, lakes

our bodies together
defined by the negative spaces

i say that
touching you is like putting your hand through smoke
creating waves upon waves of echos

something about
skin deflated

the tree above us sheds its leaves
we feel them on our jackets like tiny pins

there are palms pressing upwards into spines

whispering into your neck
"there are some things that i will keep forever"

later, the sensation of needles