i was supposed to be in love now. with
the shadows flitting across the tree's face. with
lying awake in bed till 3 in the morning. with
her eyes when she laughs. this is what happens when
you slave away the sun on a chopping board: the helium
capacity of rawness untouched. slick
between fingers, grating kinetic crystals,
feathering its airy winter kiss. where
the huckleberry has yet to sprout, the grass
rises. up and up it floats, chafinggratingchafing:
we are cuts in the blanket of this moment,
simultaneously within and without it.
hello! i had a massive block recently, this is something i wrote in my journal last week. it's not great, but at least it is something, and for now that's enough for me.