artists and lovers…

artists and lovers...

maybe,
you’ll lose a little
sleep and the sanity
will waver…
but you’ll trade it for
the dreams. for the
bleeding of the colors
and the escape from time.
and maybe the peace will
take turns with the chaos,
but this love will touch.
taste. feel. like fire…
and your soul will stir
and your heart will race
and the art will breathe.
and the awakenings
will come again and again.
and just. the existence of them…
who they are… how they are…
it will create all those hurricanes
that you feel in your chest walls.

and that’s how you’ll know.
because if they are for you…
you’ll feel it in your chest walls.

– butterflies rising

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my way of asking for your forevers…

i can’t say them.
i can’t say those three words.

i can’t say it in three words…
i can’t speak these things small.
i don’t feel these things ordinary.
and i can’t look at you and feel. these. things.
and fit them into predetermined patterns
and pre-ordered packages,
or practice how to speak them
in a rented ballroom,
or repeat them as a morning habit…
these are star things, and soul things,
and all of my everything, things…
so when you say…
do you, will you?
i do, and i will
but out here where it’s wild,
and up here where it’s infinite,
and in me where i feel you,
where i’ve always. felt. you…
even before this. and where i’ll feel you
after this, and beyond this…

so what i can’t say means nothing.
and it means everything.

and what i mean when i say to you…
burn out the stars with me

…that’s my way of asking for your forevers.

– butterflies rising

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in his sleep…

the way he speaks of me in his sleep

there are
things he holds
close, in the awake,
in the lucid,
things he feels, but he fears
how they might fall out so helpless,
so unarmed, so defenseless…
and god, how those walls
can make me question.

but then he dreams with an open chest,
and he tells me of what he’s sure of,
and that i can let my head rest,
‘cause this isn’t a small love,
and that most times it feels like too much love,
and so sometimes… he’s just afraid.

so my fears… they just fall quiet
with the way he speaks to me
in his sleep.

he may have a
hardened chest in the wake light,
but there are flowers in the moonlight,
and when his fears fall quiet…
there are all these things he feels
when his defenses are down.

– butterflies rising

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