Wednesday, 6 January 2016

the moon hangs from the ceiling and i slip softly between the dots, your ink blots, the space between your eyes from where you gave birth to yourself, between the extremes to which you're drawn. take you apart beneath the silent surface, amid the truth hiding behind what's seen. and see.


tentaculitidae said...

I was alone on a sunny shore
by the forest’s pale blue lake,
in the sky floated a single cloud
and on the water a single island.
Ripe summer’s sweetness dripped
in pearls from every tree
and into my opened heart
a little drop ran down.

Edith Södergran (1892–1923)

cloudgathererholdmedown said...

she makes me swoon