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Literature Text
the atlantic gave birth to you like a tsunami. late nights spent buying tiramisu for pretty girls with green eyes. playing with her fork like she was sewing the seams of clouds together.
we spent too long floating on hardwood floors with blankets wrapped tightly like a second skin, trying to protect things that might someday be broken. using fear as the only insurance against heartache and loneliness. pretending like we weren't already familiar to those things like we were to crumbs on kitchen counters, so we swept loneliness beneath the rugs and told it to stay. we were using words like forever without being able to count the distance between each letter.
the atlantic was gathering waves like pennies dropped on sunday streets, picking up the pieces of what you would be before even the notion of you was formed. you came from this: heavy breathing and maps of california, red nails and a place to stay that was never in reach. you came from too many empty bottles of vodka that were downed in an attempt to feel anything. you came from forgetting words, forgetting how to speak. from being wasted, in every sense. from the first words we said to each other, fumbling fingers over blackened keys. you came from this. from not knowing your own name, the hands on the clock melting into the next morning, fast food and white sand. you came thundering through us like the storms that cut connections carelessly, rolling like the wheels of artic trucks, swiftly shaking through the winds. you came from hearing your name being said for the first time and late nights spilling tears through phone lines. you came from the fear that you once used as insurance being shed like you shed your clothes and kisses with eyes closed. the world standing still. you came from this. truth.
we spent too long floating on hardwood floors with blankets wrapped tightly like a second skin, trying to protect things that might someday be broken. using fear as the only insurance against heartache and loneliness. pretending like we weren't already familiar to those things like we were to crumbs on kitchen counters, so we swept loneliness beneath the rugs and told it to stay. we were using words like forever without being able to count the distance between each letter.
the atlantic was gathering waves like pennies dropped on sunday streets, picking up the pieces of what you would be before even the notion of you was formed. you came from this: heavy breathing and maps of california, red nails and a place to stay that was never in reach. you came from too many empty bottles of vodka that were downed in an attempt to feel anything. you came from forgetting words, forgetting how to speak. from being wasted, in every sense. from the first words we said to each other, fumbling fingers over blackened keys. you came from this. from not knowing your own name, the hands on the clock melting into the next morning, fast food and white sand. you came thundering through us like the storms that cut connections carelessly, rolling like the wheels of artic trucks, swiftly shaking through the winds. you came from hearing your name being said for the first time and late nights spilling tears through phone lines. you came from the fear that you once used as insurance being shed like you shed your clothes and kisses with eyes closed. the world standing still. you came from this. truth.
Literature
we became an atlantic tragedy2
verse i:
We first met in 1912
April 14, the ocean smelt
beautiful. Just like your face.
and eyes and skin. the crashing waves
mimicked your hips crashing into mine;
mimicked you crashing the party in my mind
this boat crashing against the tide's
bone structure. Rocking side to side.
it was my first time; I was scared as hell
it was your first time, I couldn't tell
disaster could be seen from two nautical miles,
but I was too blinded my the curve of your smiles
in case you forgot, your clothes sank to the floor;
your body sank into mine; my heart sank into yours.
in case you forgot, your clothes
Literature
Memories of You
(I)
Summer's heat clung to us
like guilty secrets,
so at odds with our childish delight.
We never kept track of the time,
but we knew that we'd been out too long
when our heavy limbs were patterned
with grass and freckles.
I told you that freckles were sun kisses,
and you said that you weren't the jealous type,
but you didn't act like it, did you?
(II)
We combined good posture with slouchy clothes
and found comfort in straight-backed iron chairs.
We rode public buses until midnight
and picked our favourite cafés
based on the songs they played,
thinking that music and food were equal
to our ideas of lo
Literature
A Brief History of Time
I.
We live again
and must learn the names we have been given.
And oh, the caged bird carries the wind in her lungs.
She is a body of calm thunder.
II.
Beloved, Beloved
I am born
with the sweet clay of Virginia in my eyes,
the bones of old Ireland in my flesh.
I am myself incarnate.
Opening a new mouth I
speak.
III.
Solomon's wife
catches the birds in flight.
Oh, that man carries the wind in his lungs,
she says,
in his lungs and under his wings.
Our drums are our thighs,
the soles of our feet against the earth,
the thick pounding rivers that rush through our veins.
IV.
We are
ripe
apples.
Motherfather Time sits
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lovely.