2 PM sunlight is a special kind of sunlight.
It only works if you get it right;
a narrow, tall window
with sheer white curtains
tossed and tussled to the side
and thin plastic stretched over
like a cellophane veil
to keep warmth in your unheated apartment.
Creamy, off white walls,
bare of art but not of holes
where it could be hung.
A cat, ginger,
with it’s soft winter coat coming in,
to sit on your lap.
A sweater,
someone else’s,
someone whose smell you could drink.
Soft hair, damp from the shower,
curling around your face
and just barely tickling
the upper curves of your cheeks.
Something round and smooth
to curl your hands a
Right hand.
You’re thin, frail, and delicate.
Edged with knobby bones,
narrow compared to the bulbous arthritic knots
that the hands of my aunts and grandparents imply that you will become.
You’re jaded.
You click the ends of pens obsessively,
snap weak pencils on accident.
When I dance,
you hold tight to my hair to make sure you don’t get lost.
When I walk,
you stay in my right pocket and flutter from thing to thing
like a paranoid bird-
Phone Keys Lipstick Phone Keys Lipstick.
When I’m vulnerable,
you tug my loose shirts into tight outlines of my stomach and the extra skin above my hips.
When I’m stressed,
yo
2 PM sunlight is a special kind of sunlight.
It only works if you get it right;
a narrow, tall window
with sheer white curtains
tossed and tussled to the side
and thin plastic stretched over
like a cellophane veil
to keep warmth in your unheated apartment.
Creamy, off white walls,
bare of art but not of holes
where it could be hung.
A cat, ginger,
with it’s soft winter coat coming in,
to sit on your lap.
A sweater,
someone else’s,
someone whose smell you could drink.
Soft hair, damp from the shower,
curling around your face
and just barely tickling
the upper curves of your cheeks.
Something round and smooth
to curl your hands a
Right hand.
You’re thin, frail, and delicate.
Edged with knobby bones,
narrow compared to the bulbous arthritic knots
that the hands of my aunts and grandparents imply that you will become.
You’re jaded.
You click the ends of pens obsessively,
snap weak pencils on accident.
When I dance,
you hold tight to my hair to make sure you don’t get lost.
When I walk,
you stay in my right pocket and flutter from thing to thing
like a paranoid bird-
Phone Keys Lipstick Phone Keys Lipstick.
When I’m vulnerable,
you tug my loose shirts into tight outlines of my stomach and the extra skin above my hips.
When I’m stressed,
yo
pastel disco queens of the wild west by skullhips, literature
Literature
pastel disco queens of the wild west
nothing, nothing's wrong whenever
you're here but you're not
i don't trust promises from anybody anymore;
there's no point in trying to see how long you
can breathe underwater if you know that your
lungs aren't working in the first place
i'm going to walk through hallways in a worse
fashion than i used to: i dress in all black, the
color that gives me the most warmth whenever
the sun walks out the door, leaving his babygirl
behind to take care of the three-month-old and
she cries in my arms, she's telling me that she
can't do this anymore; she has to though, she
has to keep going
i said,
"stand still and remember that
the whole world is s
The air stalls
Within my lungs
Leaving me breathless
In an unfocused haze
Of pale grays moving
As fast as windmills
Once helium butterflies
Gentle and giddy
Have turned into smoke
Clawing at my throat
Trying to escape
With the rest of me