Would you hold her?
Would you hold her?
Even with her solar flairs and skin like lemon peels, falling off her bones like tissue paper, with her network of stars aligned perfectly straight on her arm, even with her diamonds as they crumple into dust? Love her even when she’s sunken below the sea, when her clavicles empty and dry, when the water from her little body drains, as hands and feet and bones and teeth clasp onto her to pull her away?
Hold her to you. Turn on the light and glide your fingers through her hair, a wild and burdened forest. Peel her skin softly off, peel her cuticles back, peel stray hairs from her forehead, and notice that she is looking at you.
Love her as the spring inevitably comes with such dark despair to a brave, gloomy world. Love her because she is quite void, slightly empty, slightly dry. Her embankments are jewel-crusted, with bones and teeth that stick out like little islands among her many oceans. Many of the brave are wont to turn away. But only the sick can see that, beyond the papery wallflower, a golden rose remains awake.
Even with her solar flairs and skin like lemon peels, falling off her bones like tissue paper, with her network of stars aligned perfectly straight on her arm, even with her diamonds as they crumple into dust? Love her even when she’s sunken below the sea, when her clavicles empty and dry, when the water from her little body drains, as hands and feet and bones and teeth clasp onto her to pull her away?
Hold her to you. Turn on the light and glide your fingers through her hair, a wild and burdened forest. Peel her skin softly off, peel her cuticles back, peel stray hairs from her forehead, and notice that she is looking at you.
Love her as the spring inevitably comes with such dark despair to a brave, gloomy world. Love her because she is quite void, slightly empty, slightly dry. Her embankments are jewel-crusted, with bones and teeth that stick out like little islands among her many oceans. Many of the brave are wont to turn away. But only the sick can see that, beyond the papery wallflower, a golden rose remains awake.
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