the slip of skin on skin
as pillows lump and sheets tangle
at night, a forest grows
green leaves twine around us
who lie like tangled ruins
hearts beating still
with the rhythm of the night
which sings of secret things
July 23, 2015
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ashes, ashes...
some of the worst days come when we are nostalgic about something we never really had: true love, certainty, time... our memories hold false...
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some of the worst days come when we are nostalgic about something we never really had: true love, certainty, time... our memories hold false...
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baba yaga's home is the place you go when everything else has fallen apart tucked in twisty trees fenced with stacks of bones bone...
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"It is not so much light that falls over the world extended by your body its suffocating snow, as brightness, pouring itself out of you...
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