‏ً

[‏ً @achuorus]

lend me a throat and i’ll show you what it looks like swollen with the debris of lovelorn wounds.

[花 @teninimi]

you really can't see it, but he was pretty impatient to walk me home and see The Baby. unfortunately, it was naptime for chia. i wonder which of us ended up capturing the cuter sight of him. swipe and be the judge of it. 🍨

[‏ً @achuorus]

@teninimi no photo could encompass the unbelievable beauty of this little boy..

[‏ً @achuorus]

surely there are gentler forms of devotion than this delirium / older ways / safer ways. though i confess they sound dreadfully lifeless in comparison.

[‏ً @achuorus]

my handwriting has developed a taste for living things. it no longer resembles language so much as an animal pacing behind a thin door, some rabid little slant to it, all teeth and fever. i blame you, in part.

[‏ً @achuorus]

people like us were never meant to be spoken to kindly. look how quickly the body begins acting haunted afterwards, all this frothing devotion staggering room to room, chewing through captivity, unable to stop producing strange little offerings at the altar of being noticed.

[‏ً @achuorus]

everything burns down to grief eventually, even the sky, even the fields we thought were sugar.

[‏ً @achuorus]

ear to throat... there, precisely. a little to the left of the voice. squalling in mourning / certain that eventually i will open my mouth and claim it as my own.

[‏ً @achuorus]

the most frightening thing is not that something inside me is rancid. few are told that composure is merely a poised custom of decay. it is never in haste. no, not when it simply cowers behind the miserable fissures you would hardly take notice of unless you pressed close.

[‏ً @achuorus]

the shoreline knows me as the man who returns, again & again, and it reminds that repetition might one day become habit. there is certain reach of coast that apprehends this stillness. i tell people light, horizon / such that enact respectable, horizontal lies.

[‏ً @achuorus]

i’m sorry i’m so late to it. i am late to everything.

[‏ً @achuorus]

run a raw tile in this sorrow time. i write as one unsure of the address, unsure of the century. the heart is always an indecent, disgusting survivor. the house is.. well, worse off. there’s a dent where you used to stand. what should i call this if not architectural grief?

[‏ً @achuorus]

the body is gone, yet the indentation remains? a useless muscle. the air feels ill to even walk past / did i lose you, or was i only misinformed of my keeping you / because it’s harder to expect my understanding than your step.

[۟ @godsfell]

i dreamt last night of your teeth on my skin.

[‏ً @achuorus]

between us we attempt a reconstruction: of water, sound, a name.

we almost succeed / and almost is a very long place to be alive in.

[‏ً @achuorus]

the shoreline knows me as the man who returns, again & again, and it reminds that repetition might one day become habit. there is certain reach of coast that apprehends this stillness. i tell people light, horizon / such that enact respectable, horizontal lies.

[‏ً @achuorus]

the truth is the sea remembers her in fragments, and i have made my trade in fragments. trust is in the sea’s account over my own, for memory is a faithless historian.

the sea was there when she dwelt near me, and it remains now that she dwells elsewhere / or nowhere.

[‏ً @achuorus]

unmuzzled at last. let me spend a little banter before i shelve it again. quick.

[ً @kreophagos]

is there an innate instinct to annihilate what one desires? i want to make fists and bruise, i want to tear and part, and i cannot tell when want becomes need.