Posts tagged Love
Posts tagged Love
Potential puns to caption these photos:
Well, you get the picture.
First lines of imagined romance novels I would read:
Stretching for love across states and a war. A letter written by John T. Wilder to his wife during the Civil War.
But that’s not to say it isn’t ecstasy.
The rise in your throat and your chest
when the name is on your tongue.
Static and then a voice.
It’s comical how
satellites enable human touch.
Call and response
"What did you say?"
echoes of ambient murmurs.
Two lives in different octaves
but the stories twist
to lingual harmonies.
I should’ve known words were enough
to traverse time, space, the subway.
There’s a history of sonnets
and we’re not so different from our great grandfathers.
Other lips may have formed a more perfect union,
but this one is ours to uphold.
When our fingers interlock, I will be home.
Soulmates in the age of technology.
Technology, man. Come out, come out wherever you are.
**This poem was published this May in Stillpoint Literary Magazine, which makes it both old and special to me. The latter is why I’m putting it here. It seemed an appropriate way to start publicly poet-ing again.
Our Southern skies
sheets suspended from
the edges of roofs,
A droning hush to
sync your breath.
I’ve stayed huddled
(quilts, knits, foreign skin)
But there’s an intimate exposure
where our minds entwine and
mine’s meandered often
grazing fading lines.
we’ll break and coalesce in
pieced attempts at parting,
but our whole has holes
and you’re so far away.
Send your words
to rush my veins
the way rain overwhelms gutters.
We say life vests are for cowards
but still cling to one another.
If two trains leave our respective rooms
in a moment,
Both traveling at their respective speeds,
Could we make
a home in the wreckage?
Could our bodies
lie still at night?
Love is taking solace
in the same constellations.
Did you know when you’re sad/lonely romcoms are not entertaining/funny?
Oh you did? Why didn’t you tell me…
My head knows things don’t work out, but my heart never got that message. I think you shatter pretty easily at twenty-one, but maybe the pieces are easier to pick up too. There are birds outside my window and they are singing.
There were so many poems I hadn’t sent you yet.
There’s a purple-orange sunset radiating through this library window
And I’m trying to be content in the small things
Do your notes in the margins count?
This is what warmth tastes like.
text reads: this doesn’t compare to the feel of your skin
^ Friday, Friday.
^ Melting, melding, two to one.
Andrea Gibson (via rarararambles)
^ I hope you don’t listen either.
My gift to you
My gift to you will be an abyss, she said,
but it will be so subtle you’ll perceive it
only after many years have passed
and you are far from Mexico and me.
You’ll find it when you’ll need it most,
and that won’t be
the happy ending,
but it will be an instant of emptiness and joy.
And maybe then you’ll remember me,
if only just a little.
— Roberto Bolaño
^ Only just a little.
I need a romantic partner who, when he asks what I want to do and I say “build a blanket fort,” takes me very seriously.