Friday, 22 July 2016

roots

when i spoke with your language, my hands stopped trembling.
the spine , it cannot decide whether she wants
the sky or the earth – but you had both of them and
love is even softer when she is the one holding the knife.
come here, you have my bareness, my breath and the place
where the slaughter has happened. make it all honey or ruin.
just let me pour myself in you, talk to your ghosts like they are mine.
i wanna stop being aware of my heart – the way it opens and closes,
but, more than often, shuts itself completely.
at the root of the sky, of the earth, of our hands entwined,
of your eyes and the stars within , lays a bruise. sometimes,
i think that everything breaks me a little. sometimes,
all i can think of is warmth and a love without teeth.

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