OPEN-BRAIN SURGERY

jan 03 '17 11:31 p.m.

who is she? a woman you used to love. love and love like water from fountain. a real lover, so you could open your chest and see the same things: all jewels, all sapphires, all blue and burning. you miss her face. nothing like a beautiful woman. makes you forget and remember only what's important. what becomes important? very little. the weight of the world rests in the hands of the holy few. and so i love those things too, but most of all the godwoman from which these things do come. up and out. the fire from the works. who's going to lie to an angel? the truth's already on her tongue, in between her teeth. lie to yourself first, before her.

a joy like dancing. i do my two-step for my baby. praise the Lord for my baby, hands upturned and clasped, reaching and holding. i could swallow a bouquet and bring them out from stomach just for you. draw you a halo from the dirt. sprinkle a lil bit and the world goes blind.

so sweet is to sleep as soft as we had come (in the ground, on the bed, in the sky, on a star, beneath the sun). i love you and this is good. these things are good—something about affection that's pure and citrus. fresh fruit in the summertime. the base. a guitar, sprawling open in the night, so the chords linger, and linger, and linger, and linger...

tear open the night, so the moon shakes in awe, so the stars fall like raindrops on the city—

— 

 i was listening to "the girl with the tattoo enter.lewd" by miguel and "someone new" by banks for like half an hour on loop when i wrote this happy thursday everyone