honeysuckleair

[honeysuckleair]

The Bible of my fragile love has not been written. So let it be. So it must be. We hold each other's names in our mouths, screaming. We were not born to be so silent. So let it be. So it must be.

[honeysuckleair]

We cannot take those ghosts with us where we are going.

[honeysuckleair]

History can’t be rushed. We didn’t have time to see the village, we didn’t have time to see the house fall to build light out of mud, nor did we see time burning. The city is missing, and we’ve saved others, our backs turned. What happened is a different reality in everyone’s mind, but the direction we took tells us the world doesn’t end when we force air out of bones. Now we know the myth by the cup of coffee going cold, realize we were never told how to take the street parallel to our heart.

Testament in Barcelona  // Nathalie Handal  (via speioritur)

[honeysuckleair]

The one who says I love you when they feel it.  Who does not taste of other lives.  Who is only sunny breakfasts on city balconies.  My god who tells me:  you are forgiven of what you were born into, go now.  N who says:  You are allowed to have a light that matches your own.

Go now.

I know a redemption when I see it.  I know what forgiveness feels like.  This summer made of ocean breeze and a soul that holds my own without resentment.  This city with its haunted streets but ghosts who do not reach to me.  

There were not supposed to be other mouths.  Then again, there was never supposed to be my first curdled scream, my exodus from that sacred land.  I am blessed to cry again.  I am blessed to love again.

Go now.  Go now.

[honeysuckleair]

I'm lucky. I'm lucky to always be saved by light. I am lucky.

[honeysuckleair]

Honeysuckle, the sweet taste.  Honeysuckle, I found the vines by the garden.  Grew obsessed.  Dug fingernails into the tender green and slowly pulled.  Watched the sweet gather itself.  I waited.  

[honeysuckleair]

#train #mountain #graffiti

[honeysuckleair]

Psalm 97:11 KJV

“Light is sown for the righteous, and gladness for the upright in heart.”

[honeysuckleair]

You think I can’t tame that? I always come home. Always. Ravenous. Loaded. You know better than anybody: I’m bigger than God.

Jeanann Verlee, from “The Mania Speaks,” Muzzle (via lifeinpoetry)

[honeysuckleair]

Unholy blood. The cruel blood. The metallic taste they breathed on you. You are begging for the taste. You are begging for what you have no right to. Clean hands, Holy mouth. You will never have it.

A soul that strangles itself from grief is what you have, what you are left with. The childheart that stopped breathing from the absence. Eyes gone cold from silence.

Ghost breath. Honeyed tongue. Pure but for that calm dead heart.

[honeysuckleair]

5.10.15

Theodore Lewis

[honeysuckleair]

You were a city exiled from skin, your mouth a burning church.

Warsan Shire, from “Questions for Miriam” (via victoriajoan)

[honeysuckleair]

death cannot harm me more than you have harmed me, my beloved life.

Louise Glück, excerpt of October (via ohproserpine)

[honeysuckleair]

The (mighty) Ohio

[honeysuckleair]

In Missouri we were together:  red wolves by the river and it's easy to remember that fondly/ easy to remember just the sweet water call. We ran from the divers who dredged for the bodies of the jumpers from that high iron bridge. The song, this song of not loving a good man is ledge song, edge song, song of broke voice, tired            liver I keep singing until the birds tell me to stop and even go on past anyone's sympathy I can't let go.  In Missouri we were together.  Red wolves by the river. O I'm making love to other lovers and I've smoked the opium until I'm a housecat but what Meredith says most often is I've got to shut it with the heart talk/stop talking bout            how we ran from the divers as they dredged the river for the bodies of the jumpers. We knew the jumpers--I thought they might be our other selves, the divers too.   We could have been the river even; I wanted us to be it all as we stood there red wolves together by the edge of the river. But in all my selves there wasn't enough love and I can't stop saying this again, again, and over,           ever If we were the wolves, we were the jumpers and the divers and the river and still I wasn't. and I ran from the divers as they pulled up the bodies of the jumpers. This is the taste of looking back, isn't it? The Mississippi water. This is the last call you'd want to get/ I've sung too many times but I remember: In Missouri we were together and red wolves by the river, and we ran together from the divers who dredged for the bodies of the jumpers from that high iron bridge.

Portia Elan, How No Song Can Bring the Spirit Back Unless the Singer Has Faith and Does Not Turn Around

[honeysuckleair]

Say alone. Forty times. Pair it with the desert. Say it. Alone. Alone. Alone. Say the words plain, she says. Say it plain. Say it outright. Alone. Don’t get poetic. Say I. Say me. Say I am alone. Own it. I am alone.

Jeanann Verlee, from The Session (via violentwavesofemotion)

[honeysuckleair]

We burned the houses down and they never forgave us. In the funeral home we found dresses and laughed while we waited to die but we never died with them the way we thought we would. They never forgave us. I let my own mother burn and I chose you. They never forgave us. Came rushing to their doors and windows. Looked you in the eye like that. Crawled between our terrified separate bodies with blood on their breath. They never forgave us. They ran when our hands found each other. The power to take life holds the power to create life. We held our lives stronger than their refusal to die. They never forgave us. They never forgave us.