now we’re setting fire to everything—
the moon, the stars, the styrofoam
planets we hung from the livingroom
ceiling —sucking the last breath of
space into our lungs; the universe
we created and once held, timidly,
in our tiny hands.
(Source: thedustdancestoo)
you are the moon—
your eyes, and smile,
and lips
controlling
the waves that thunder
endlessly
inside my chest.
(Source: thedustdancestoo)
actias luna.
once,
when i was young,
an old man told me
the moon was made of moths.
that’s why it rises, he said,
and falls,
and why
sometimes pieces disappear,
flying off
to pollinate the stars.
(Source: thedustdancestoo)
when darkness comes.
after the moon fades,
ebbing away to nothing,
we’ll find the last imprints
of light in each other’s eyes.
(Source: thedustdancestoo)
the moon is vinyl (and when it spins, music plays).
please hold me close, dear,
pull me gently in, by my shirt
so our hearts can finally meet,
i’ll hold you close, dear,
we’ll dance slowly, trying hard
not to step on each other’s feet.
(Source: thedustdancestoo)
haiku #77.
harvest moon— spiders
cast nets to catch bits of food
and water droplets
(Source: thedustdancestoo)
