Teach me how to sketch a love
Navigate the contours of a mind
Navigate the liminal between what is and might, not taking fright,
Such skittish animals we be
Teach me how to palm the whorls
of hands, the caverns of a flighty heart
Teach it, and I’ll sell the oldest guidebook
to the soul, so torn and bent,
but legible and numbered neat
"Some people turn sad awfully young. No special reason, it seems, but they seem almost to be born that way. They bruise easier, tire faster, cry quicker, remember longer and, as I say, get sadder younger than anyone else in the world. I know, for I’m one of them."
ever pass somebody that wears the same cologne as someone you miss and it feels like your heart was just rammed by a semi truck
YES. ALL THE FUCKING TIME
I will o’erleap myself, it seems
That this is what I do
To o’erleap some glassy wall
I will o’erleap, in simply
Searching for the hurdles
Hit my shins against the wood
With only twenty metres left.
She was so close, they said, the crowd
All turned away, because
It was a photo finish
And one time
She simply sailed right over.
To o’erleap entails a flexibility, although
To o’erleap involves a stretching
Of the bones.
And fibers will be wrought thicker and fast
For this extension, heartstring
Fibers will get ever precious give.
To o’erleap is but a gesture
But for moments
She did soar