At the beginning of May I tried really hard to write atleast 6 times a week. 5 out of 6 times, I didn't get anything good out of it, but this was half-decent. It has an unfinished feel to it, but I don't know if I'll pursue it. I kind of like it right where it is. (:
listen;
there's a hell of a good universe next door.
let's go.
are you not tired?
are you not weary of the bed you have built for your bones?
are you not aching to stretch your fingers farther than the fence of your skin gloves?
listen;
there's a hell of a good universe next door.
let's go.
there are no stars in this cosmos that are good enough for you.
your shoulders deserve every grain of a galaxy that cannot be contained here.
you look like a black hole in that universe of a bedsheet, sometimes.
your eyes look a lot like saturn's rings this past week.
there are 10 asteroids between your breast and your hip.
there are 10 comet tails,
ten shooting stars, fading celestial fires,
painting their tragedies on your sides.
your constellations are fading.
orion is becoming looser around your waist.
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