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Currently Untitled 5Meet me at the bottom of the bottle, my friend, to whom I said,Currently Untitled 5
and promised with many words that rose like bleak bubbles between us. Everything is smoke and mirrors, to
whom I said, and promised
When you took my hand to the tune of smashing glass -- when night, a misplaced phrase, settled between us a grim guest at our table.
This is who I am, to whom I said, and tasted with willing palm Your sweat beading along the bottom of the bottle. It was a mistake to seek you there.
Now morning is a taste at the back of my mind -- a
by ~zwanzigsten
Currently Untitlec 4In our room the cracked wallclock whispers 11 p.m. time devours itself; and we, with frozen fingers cup fire to our young mouths, suckling pink pouts breathe collectivelyCurrently Untitlec 4
one flabbergasted lung.
Breathe
and burn through recycled visions her sun sets behind my left shoulder
voice wandering lost
in my valley of indifferent bones her sigh is unbearably hot and fragrant
against my skin words
incomprehensible dribble
down my arm an indecipherable puddle collects in its sorrowful, brown crook.
Ano
by ~zwanzigsten
Currently Untitled 3Mourning discovered a dead moth in the depression where my head had lain beside the ivory undersides of pillows cast aside like all imperfect creatures, stacked suffocating upon our stolid shores, silentgaping yawns signal the approach of death. The moth -- belly up in imperturbable repose -- its brittle face: the mummified mask of peace and horror we all wear during our small, daily deaths: of deep and shallow cuts, quartering, carving, barbed wire sown with bare hands tortuous trails leading back to ourselves and the faintly beating heart of the mCurrently Untitled 3
by ~zwanzigsten
Currently Untitled 2In winter: when it is not you, nor I, but we; walking one another’s trails placing step upon step upon, your print inside. Touching mine, your throw back your laughter for me to catch. A crisp flurry of white as the sun sets behind your left shoulder, my gaze sets snowflakes dancing. Still-stepping, I alight. Upon the field, we collide with a satisfying crunch. At the nape of your neck. On the land beneath your parka. In your summer-scented valleys, night has fallen. Following familiar maps across your memory-marked flesh, I traversCurrently Untitled 2
by ~zwanzigsten
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- Current Residence: Montreal, QC
- Interests: music / literature / trees / black comedy / drum circles
- Favourite movie: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind / Howards End / Gattaca / Glory / Princess Mononoke
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q: how? a: romantic.
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