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Literature Text
Six seasons.
Seventy-seven weeks.
Seventeen and one half months.
Nineteen and one quarter lunar cycles.
Five hundred thirty four days and nights.
Seven hundred sixty-eight thousand nine hundred and 60 seconds.
We spent every one of these units of time together.
Spring
In the shadow of the oncoming storm, a tree shudders within, dropping its' fruit.
Tides rush before the storm carrying generations to a land with wounded soil where they perish.
Summer
Numbers are not real. I count them 3..5..23..88, 89, 90, 91..98, 99..115..Habit. See it. Sum it. Submit.
Pulling, pounding, pushing, breathing, the song of the new cicadas.
In harmony a steady nightly rhythm. (701)
Fall
Soaked in an ocean of soiled linen, daring desires, pheromones, swollen lips and coliseum kisses.
Your spasmodic shell satiated, separates, splinters, shatters, sails straight South.
Winter
Through the long nights I've been cinched tightly together in a sailor's knot, with you filling my sails.
Systematically you raised the anchor and departed as the sun rose behind my love veiled eyes.
Death
Is where the wine is not consumed.
Is where the unleavened bread is untouched.
Is in me, where love for a child exists that cannot be born.
.
.
© - all rights reserved - M.Mimo.Art - KissTheSunrise - 2013
Seventy-seven weeks.
Seventeen and one half months.
Nineteen and one quarter lunar cycles.
Five hundred thirty four days and nights.
Seven hundred sixty-eight thousand nine hundred and 60 seconds.
We spent every one of these units of time together.
Spring
In the shadow of the oncoming storm, a tree shudders within, dropping its' fruit.
Tides rush before the storm carrying generations to a land with wounded soil where they perish.
Summer
Numbers are not real. I count them 3..5..23..88, 89, 90, 91..98, 99..115..Habit. See it. Sum it. Submit.
Pulling, pounding, pushing, breathing, the song of the new cicadas.
In harmony a steady nightly rhythm. (701)
Fall
Soaked in an ocean of soiled linen, daring desires, pheromones, swollen lips and coliseum kisses.
Your spasmodic shell satiated, separates, splinters, shatters, sails straight South.
Winter
Through the long nights I've been cinched tightly together in a sailor's knot, with you filling my sails.
Systematically you raised the anchor and departed as the sun rose behind my love veiled eyes.
Death
Is where the wine is not consumed.
Is where the unleavened bread is untouched.
Is in me, where love for a child exists that cannot be born.
.
.
© - all rights reserved - M.Mimo.Art - KissTheSunrise - 2013
Literature
How to Sleep and Never Wake Up
The year they discovered my best friend, twenty years old and silent under the heap of her wrecked car, I learned one can sleep forever and never wake up.
That year, her sister, only seventeen, ate magic mushrooms and lost her mind and her brother, fourteen, started running and stopped eating and I didn't eat magic mushrooms but lost my mind anyway as everyone watched my skin, too white to be real, disintegrate before their eyes.
That year I flew to Colorado to see an urn surrounded by pointe shoes. It reminded me more of a wastebasket than the last I would see of the girl who shared my soul. Her sister ran naked through the street a few da
Literature
Sacchariferous
for the Admiral
my dandelions speak of
the kitchen, brimming
with sun-streaked sugar
and mended-over smiles.
floured fingerprints cloud the sky,
but every broken egg is one more yellow flower.
in sweetgrass and flowers
i find white-leaf bandages for cracked shells. coils of
sky
fill the bowl to the brim-
the world is a clean smile
wrapped in sugar.
everything here is white and pale as sugar
gathered to mend your flowered
smile.
i wish you'd swallow always fields of
dandelions that brim
with every clean, clear sky.
i'll measure out the sky
in cups of sugar.
fogged upon the rim
of the flour bowl- your fingerprints in flowe
Literature
he's just not that into you
long-legged and twitching
like the spiders
you watch run
down the
drain,
he doesn’t call
you pretty. you remember
his hands tracing the ink
of your veins, but he
doesn’t call you pretty.
he doesn’t hold
the door, and you
think you’re a liar
but the truth is quivering
naked in your voice
(we will name our children after
extinct kingdoms; dead beautiful
things. i will polish the dull spot
in your eye that you developed
after a terminal case of unnoticed
living. i will never be a cure but
damn it if i won’t be a diagnosis)
the static of his vocal chords
brings you back, martyr
without a cause,
he doesn&rs
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there are days I don't think of you at all. there are days i don't know my name.
there are nights I think only of you, they drive me into the floor like a fucking spike and
I cry out, but no one hears. no one will ever hear them for they're the 'silent scream'.
♫ ♀♥ [link] ♥♀ ♫
there are nights I think only of you, they drive me into the floor like a fucking spike and
I cry out, but no one hears. no one will ever hear them for they're the 'silent scream'.
♫ ♀♥ [link] ♥♀ ♫
© 2013 - 2024 KissTheSunrise
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Congrats on your DD.