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Literature Text
He takes my hand and plants heat in my palm.
“Hurry, hurry,” he urges me and his voice is distant and warm.
It’s June but there are no crickets chirping. The air has turned into tulle and swallows veil themselves in pink and gray. The ground opens greedy under our feet as we run, we stumble into her hunger for moons and craters, for dirt. It’s swollen and clods like balloons creak in the dense dusk and fill the clouds. We spoon them in our soles, the rain forks them. We’re cols of paper, flushes of spilt milk and our lines disappear as the water keeps overwriting. We’re bronchi, fleshy and bloody and white with air and the air thumps around us like a big heart, dipping into the ground and popping out as she spits it, crying all the names of the sun. It embraces her like a lusty lover, howling, moaning, screaming, returns her to her most savage and frantic desire – breathe, breathe, breathe. A million little lungs.
He drags me into the small hut and we stand against each other blinded and deafened by a frost crescendo – a mutual prayer of a whole wheat field. Suddenly God hears and the sky is full of yellow kites.
His lips are cobweb and I kiss him and smear rain all over them. He tastes like clouds and fish and roots, neither of us is sun, neither of us is moon. We’re galaxies for the shortest of seconds, alight and fragmented and holding thousands of worlds in our hands, scattering them carelessly and childishly until there are none left and then we’re only debris. I wonder if the rain is red and if we’re cells, thirsty for blood and oxygen and iron. I wonder if it’s only angels that ever have the right to dream of being reborn as hearts. And we’re so small, so dirty, so insane that we resemble tumours.
“Would you like to reincarnate into a heart?” I gasp against him.
“I’d like to reincarnate into your lover again.”
He kisses back and I breathe, breathe, breathe and listen to the heart of a whole planet – raw, bloody, alive and in love.
“Hurry, hurry,” he urges me and his voice is distant and warm.
It’s June but there are no crickets chirping. The air has turned into tulle and swallows veil themselves in pink and gray. The ground opens greedy under our feet as we run, we stumble into her hunger for moons and craters, for dirt. It’s swollen and clods like balloons creak in the dense dusk and fill the clouds. We spoon them in our soles, the rain forks them. We’re cols of paper, flushes of spilt milk and our lines disappear as the water keeps overwriting. We’re bronchi, fleshy and bloody and white with air and the air thumps around us like a big heart, dipping into the ground and popping out as she spits it, crying all the names of the sun. It embraces her like a lusty lover, howling, moaning, screaming, returns her to her most savage and frantic desire – breathe, breathe, breathe. A million little lungs.
He drags me into the small hut and we stand against each other blinded and deafened by a frost crescendo – a mutual prayer of a whole wheat field. Suddenly God hears and the sky is full of yellow kites.
His lips are cobweb and I kiss him and smear rain all over them. He tastes like clouds and fish and roots, neither of us is sun, neither of us is moon. We’re galaxies for the shortest of seconds, alight and fragmented and holding thousands of worlds in our hands, scattering them carelessly and childishly until there are none left and then we’re only debris. I wonder if the rain is red and if we’re cells, thirsty for blood and oxygen and iron. I wonder if it’s only angels that ever have the right to dream of being reborn as hearts. And we’re so small, so dirty, so insane that we resemble tumours.
“Would you like to reincarnate into a heart?” I gasp against him.
“I’d like to reincarnate into your lover again.”
He kisses back and I breathe, breathe, breathe and listen to the heart of a whole planet – raw, bloody, alive and in love.
Literature
eikon aklastos.
we mused underneath bloodless onyx nights,
pointing out the stars like celestial bread crumbs
left behind by some careless angel. safe
in their studded velvet sea, they sighed and
gossiped high above our heads; they hissed their secrets
to the big blue marble so many light-years away:
sibilant whispers, snake-eyed promises eventually neglected.
someday, when the stars are collected like bits of
shredded reality by zeus's sons and daughters,
when they pull the plug on the moon, when it bleeds out
one or two more firefly flickers and finally dies,
we will discover how to collapse into the edges of existence
and ab
Literature
Cold
Trace curls and flourishes
of hoar-frost over my skin.
Unzip me with icicle fingers and
Literature
Lake Windermere
We are sometime tourists,
forever wanderers
in open topped buses
tie-dyed amongst Mercedes’.
Stringy haired,
smelling of campfire smoke,
our pockets filled with menthol cigarettes,
tin whistles,
and skipping stones.
We find ourselves
basking in the glow of laughter
under the dripdrip
of cave music.
Beers and sticky chocolate bars
fill our tattered canvas bags,
alongside leather flip flops,
discarded for bare footed expeditions
amongst spiders
bloodchilling streams
and daisy chains.
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I feel as if I could never picture this better with paint than with words.
Comments52
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Overall Vision Originality Technique ImpactSo very, classically, you, dear <img src="e.deviantart.com/emoticons/s/s…" width="15" height="15" alt="
" title=" (Smile)" /> I have to say, I am always amazed by your imagination and the ways in which you express yourself - it reminds me of dreams, vivid dreams. The way you write and how it flows within this story made my mind race, my imagination working to paint a picture as fast as you presented, as fast as they ran. I think it's fitting, the frantic way she muses about so much in so short a time as they run, before they find the hut. There is still a sense of frenzy even when they find the hut, when they stop and explore each other, but it's of a difference sort: wonderfully, it reminds me of the way your heart beats, precisely the way your heart beats, after a long, fast run. Amazing and fitting, don't you think?I will always adore the way you write dear and it will always make me feel so small and full of so much wonderment. Beautifully presented.