i taste bonfire
on your breath,
or is it the air?
dizzy,
confused
i’m intoxicated
by your proximity
and the warmth
of these fireflies
brushing against
our skin.
(Source: thedustdancestoo)
rain.
if i fall with you,
will i find peace
in a collision?
or sleep,
in the depths
of a puddle?
(Source: thedustdancestoo)
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)
the weightless
sensation
of an empty hand
at night,
a blur
of tiny stars and
streetlights
slipping through
fingers.
(Source: thedustdancestoo)
the distance of things.
she felt insignificant, that’s all.
especially at night with the lights off,
or whenever she looked up into space.
238,850.737 miles
that’s the distance to the moon,
she thought, trying to breathe
but unable to move her lungs
because the distance between things
was measured more in feelings
than feet—
and she felt it, deep and encompassing,
inside every part of her,
as if it were swallowing her up.
(Source: thedustdancestoo)
