Hannah Flowerscitrine,
also known as the stone of the sun
and you,
also known as the sun to my moon
as shining and bright and new
floating parallel in the sky
and every eclipse brings us closer
but, god, i could never touch you.
though i dream of it
as i roll this yellow rock between fingertips
the cold, hard, smooth on my skin
opposite to how i imagine you
warm and soft and rough
as long as i sleep, never ending.
as long as i live, unknowing,
never enough.
what once was sacred is cursed perhaps it could be worse the temple at which i’d pray overrun now by this wraith my messiah led me astray that’s what you get with blind faith my friends were also fool
can you feel me looking at you? can you hear me whisper to the moon? in the same way i felt you refrain heard the breaking of these chains as i tried to hold onto your frame after i had been an earthq
you asked me to meet you in a dream yes, i will, i replied swiftly for a moment’s pleasure seems far more important than honesty. have you ever watched a mushroom grow? some have spores which, at nigh