drown.yes, i am a creature of the sea,drown. by nighttimebeautiful
it's why the sunset follows me.
oh dear, my dear, what you must know;
the place i will drown is the land,
but no dear no, not ever in the undertow.
yes, the land has books and botany and bees,
but i will only find home, find solace, by the sea.
gifts.the blue light of the bus shelter summons the ghosts inside you.gifts. by nighttimebeautiful
the near biblical sound of snow; sleeping rain, shifting on the sidewalk.
we take the bus when we want to drink
or when we want to experience new people.
we take the longest route home
and watch the snow fall
and the people talk.
(grace me with a small plant that i can tell to grow
and i’ll be happier than with a thousand dollars in a card.)
and i take the bus to have silence and solace.
gift me with a last-line bus ride at one in the morning
and i’ll spill all my secrets.
i’ll write poems about the snow and be grateful.
listen to how an alone man sighs
on the bus at one in the morning.
you’ll be grateful.
(grace me with the sunrise over the golf course in our backyard
and i’ll be happier than with shiny new countertops in the kitchen)
you know how ghosts come out at one in the morning,
but you also know how they come out not from graves, but from the living.
the ghosts come out from the men
304pm"your eyelashes are spider legs." this makes wrists clench, you are more than symmetry.304pm by nighttimebeautiful
theceiling.theceiling. by nighttimebeautiful
its wet paper, four candles and t.s. eliot. good morning. its you-and-me. books are just paper torn to be read seventy, eighty three times its you-and-me. THE OIL IN THE RIVER SWEATS, AND ITS SEEPING INTO THE CHEEKBONES OF OUR MOTHER.
what is heaven, what is nectar, what is sweet grass, what is patience.
its me-and-you. good morning. but the morning is still night when you haven't been to sleep. breathe in pores of lust and luxury. its dry bones in lightening. its hostile sleeping. its you-and-me. good morning.