irishkitten96

The summer is coming, I hear the beach roaring from here, can see shirts hung over shoulders, sunglasses, arms round waists, can feel the earth's purrs, breaking hibernation, pollens tossed up at us in fanfare. Ants are walking over me because we're sharing a tree together. Back to back, we're trying to make our winter's pallour a warmer shade. Is it some sort of personal sign when you let your shoe-tongues fill with tan bark, when it's driven you mad your whole life? Or when you eat ice-cream in public (the sticky fingers a mere afterthought)? These trees though, they're not changing. I can't help thinking they

These days, it’s like lovers have become one hit wonders, picking at their scabs because they’re not afraid of death, only forgetting how they’ve lived. Our widest fear is the constellations pulsating fevers while we’re calling love every name in the book; your fondest memory of me is now but sleep in your eyes. Masterpieces scribble upon dilapidated wallpaper of how nobody cares, then raise hell about how all the breath-taking gardens are being devoured, so why shouldn’t they be the next to die? I know this bastard with hopes of becoming a father. He taught me that unwatered plants isn’t giving

Our horoscopes caution us not to come in contact with each other’s skin because your body is a star, a moon, a planet, and mine paper, a rock, scissors. We are to connect at haphazard intervals within calendars, diaries, photographs… (within our eyes, hair, and arms at matching tunes) but never fuse undyingly because your kiss is the sea and my kiss is an island. We can forget meeting in the middle because your heart will leave a trail to the right and my hands will be left with the blood. We can disregard infinity knocking at our doors because you are a broken clock, and I am sleeping in.