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Literature Text
when i was nineteen i fell in love with klimt, so he dressed me in gold
scattering gems in the shadows of the cloth;
but on my birthday, hundertwasser told me how my curves were
more beautiful than god's grace.
you loved me best when i burst from the sea:
you loved me best when botticelli called me venus,
but to you i was venice:
my salted hair forming ropes forming rivers,
creating canals from my collarbone to my breasts
creating lagoons at the hollow of my throat,
at the hollow of my navel:
and you traveled the currents as colombus,
mapping my skin until every crest was an island;
until each curve became a continent,
until my palms became ports,
and i was complete --
to you i was delphi:
where i cupped my fingers was the womb of the world,
marble-column limbs gracing a temple of ribcage
but i am not carved from stone as michaelangelo dreamed:
i am not his virgin of the rocks:
i am babel, i am babylon,
i am all but forgotten
scattering gems in the shadows of the cloth;
but on my birthday, hundertwasser told me how my curves were
more beautiful than god's grace.
you loved me best when i burst from the sea:
you loved me best when botticelli called me venus,
but to you i was venice:
my salted hair forming ropes forming rivers,
creating canals from my collarbone to my breasts
creating lagoons at the hollow of my throat,
at the hollow of my navel:
and you traveled the currents as colombus,
mapping my skin until every crest was an island;
until each curve became a continent,
until my palms became ports,
and i was complete --
to you i was delphi:
where i cupped my fingers was the womb of the world,
marble-column limbs gracing a temple of ribcage
but i am not carved from stone as michaelangelo dreamed:
i am not his virgin of the rocks:
i am babel, i am babylon,
i am all but forgotten
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Literature
unfinished thoughts
i.
wake up. i can't stay long.
we are a series of fleeting moments that spell out "bad timing" and "tragic romance". you are broken machinery and i am still trying to decipher the binary code for love. ones and zeros collide into a lump in my throat and suddenly, the idea of saying goodbye makes my fingertips ache and my wrists burn.
ii.
do you remember when we kissed? it was a messy pile of metaphors and we were scared that somebody would see us and try to clean us up. i still ghost the back of my hand over my lips and imagine that it's yours, but then i remember that "yours" and "mine" are not words that apply to you and me anymore.
ii
Literature
Your Constellations
I'm falling into your constellations
wishing on the crook of your neck
that you would fall in love with me.
I've been stuck in your galaxy for
so long now
I can't bear the thought of losing you.
But you're not mine to lose,
are you?
I'm wasting all my time
holding onto someone who
isn't holding onto me.
But if I had a choice
I'd rather live in the dark with you
than try to forget what it feels like to be
wrapped in your arms.
Literature
----
i wish i could singe my words
to your body;
maybe then i could
keep track of them.
if i could wound you,
split your skin and write
into the ice-scabs
run elastic through the seams
and tug,
until i am compressed
to a sugar pill,
small enough to keep in
the crook of your elbow
past the sun's death.
i want to remain.
woven into your various systems
and whispering through dishes,
wrinkles in your palm,
enveloped in the quietness
of lamp beams,
blinding and naked.
i want to keep you up at night,
have one-sided conversations
disintegrate into your memory,
into the burble of your constant mind.
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Comments11
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Am so appreciative of that art history class right now.
My favorite image, though: where i cupped my fingers was the womb of the world,
That gesture gets me.
Also really dig the play with Virgin of the Rocks.
My favorite image, though: where i cupped my fingers was the womb of the world,
That gesture gets me.
Also really dig the play with Virgin of the Rocks.