"A phantom feeling: lashes fluttering
against my cheek. No flesh, no nerve. Wax wings:
imaginings that spring from wish alone.
The thirsty wanderer endures the same
fateful mirage: eats sand and tastes champagne.
You seem so whole; I’m left no room to mourn
the rubble we’ve become. The pilgrimage
we make each day; our devastated bed
beguiles. And we are sights to see. Engaged
by graveyard days, I rest against your head-
stone chest like flowers, so you’ll understand
what wilting is. One kiss with ravaged lips.
Embrace with wasted lust. Remaindered man
and woman wrecked by wants. This mess is us."
-Jessica Piazza, Atephilia (love of ruin)
And yet, you seemed so whole.
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1 week ago
"With my eyes closed, I would touch a familiar book and draw its fragrance deep inside me. This was enough to make me happy."
-Toru Watanabe; Norwegian Wood
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1 week ago
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