#6

the night took me into its mouth and the flower garden of my love burned there. i know i am full of weeds, roots. of stars that are spilling dirt. 

since then, i’ve been thinking about a forest fire, of the things i’ve done. you make me think of a whisper, of black and blue knees.

since then, i’ve been thinking how we worship the wrong way. all sacred and cathedrals. worship is muddy sanctuaries, and rain, and the gasp you let out when i let you inside. 

since then, i’ve been trying to say- haven’t i written about you for a while? did you know that? aren’t we both starving?