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pperceiving:

You must have been birthed by the sun, because I’ve never seen brown eyes that are warmer than yours.  Earthly, and alive, and warm, warm, warm.  I’ve been trying to say it in sentences, but all I can make up are fragments—and I was too nervous to tell you in person, even though I really wanted to, but, I mean, honestly, I’ve been looking for brown in everything ever since I met you.  I’ve been waiting for the autumn leaves to match your warmth, wondering why the dirt falls short of your magnetism.  They’re all the same color, anyways, but lately they can’t compare.  I can’t look at brown the same after looking at you.  I can’t feel warmth without feeling you.

Warmth must be your thing.  You smile like it is, anyways—smiling with radiance, smiling with cordiality, smiling with ultraviolet light that kindles my interest.  Your tongues of flames are dancing around the field, igniting sparks and passion onto anything it touches.  You’ve got an air that reminds me of your fire, always bright, always giving, always free.  No one can help but breathe you in.

him

(via pperceptual-deactivated20180813)

Jan 25, 2018
"

i give myself five days to forget you.

on the first i rust.
on the second i wilt.
on the third i sit with friends but i think about your tongue.
i clean my room on the fourth day. i clean my body on the fourth day.
i try to replace your scent on the fourth day.
the fifth day, i adorn myself like the mouth of an inmate.

a wedding singer dressed in borrowed gold.
the midas of cheap metal.
tinsel in the middle of summer.
crevice glitter, two days after the party.

i glow the way unwanted things do,
a neon sign that reads;

come, i still taste like someone else’s mouth.

"
- Warsan Shire, “Residue"  (via doorwaydance)

(via heavyydirtysouls-deactivated201)
Jan 25, 2018

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