Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»
Today I can оnly say that I love you too much for my repose, because after this August and September, I feel that I can оnly live near you, and that your absence, is death.
Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»
I am sending back the key
that let me into bluebeard's study;
because he would make love to me
I am sending back the key;
in his eye's darkroom I can see
my X-rayed heart, dissected body :
I am sending back the key
that let me into bluebeard's study.
Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»
My angel will sleep in my arms, will awaken in my arms, will live there.
Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»
Who could blame me for seeing оnly what I wanted to see? Who could accuse me of anything? I loved everything that didn’t love me back; it was the easiest thing in the world. Back then, I believed in change. I believed scaffolding was the same thing as structure. I thought I could build it.
Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»
If I was dead,
and my bones adrift
like dropped oars
in the deep, turning earth;
or drowned,
and my skull
a listening shell
on the dark ocean bed;
if I was dead,
and my heart
soft mulch
for a red, red rose;
or burned,
and my body
a fistful of grit, thrown
in the face of the wind;
if I was dead,
and my eyes,
blind at the roots of flowers,
wept into nothing,
I swear your love
would raise me
out of my grave,
in my flesh and blood,
like Lazarus;
hungry for this,
and this, and this,
your living kiss.
Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»
Uninvited, the thought of you stayed too late in my head,
so I went to bed, dreaming you hard, hard, woke with your name,
like tears, soft, salt, оn my lips, the sound of its bright syllables
like a charm, like a spell.
Falling in love
is glamorous hell; the crouched, parched heart
like a tiger ready to kill; a flame’s fierce licks under the skin.
Into my life, larger than life, beautiful, you strolled in.
I hid in my ordinary days, in the long grass of routine,
in my camouflage rooms. You sprawled in my gaze,
staring back from anyone’s face, from the shape of a cloud,
from the pining, earth-struck moon which gapes at me
as I open the bedroom door. The curtains stir. There you are
on the bed, like a gift, like a touchable dream.
Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»
Why do we want other people to like us, even if we don’t really care about them all that much?
Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»
To have been here, to have loved each other, to have wanted nothing as long as we lay together.
Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»
I was thirsty.
It was hot.
I kissed the boy
with soft-girl skin.
My thirst was quenched.
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