The Silence of Astounded Souls




4/5/14 // 1:25 am

We’re speeding through the yellow space of a tunnel

And I can see every pore in his doughy, traffic cone complexion.

Our bodies bounce like maracas but we cease to move forward –

Only vibrate softly in streaks of copper. We are all smooshed, sweating.

Shifting so our bodies bleed together in the thick humidity, it’s

Full of magnetic juices lurching us across the damp car seats.

“How do you think of me?” Knees collide over cup holders,

“Cool”, since I only feel you in temperatures hand-dipped, like tobacco.

We touch hands in the dark and – listen – a small bird’s heartbeat.

Everything is bleached yellow, the ends of our eyelashes and pressed torsos,

His arms so toasty, so flushed; I think, he must be a drowsy angel.

coltre:

I love train travels. I love everything about it; long journeys, short journeys, small rooms with big windows. But most of all, I love traveling with you. You will always be my favourite one.

 

"Moonlight is sculpture; sunlight is painting."

Nathaniel Hawthorne, American Note-Books, 1838 (via
blue-burn)

(Source: lucybiederman, via lifeinpoetry)

Nothing is going to be okay.

frecklhes:

This year I have to go diving with sharks