there is nothing better than being at this brink laughing|
desperate trembling swaying and frantically grasping for
anything, but coming up with nothing but air and the bodies
of butterflies crushed to dust in our cold palms.
there is a weight to the situation and rapture
is the reward for carrying it with us as we walk through
central park, along the banks of the seine, around notre-
dame-des-neiges cemetery, and across the starry night sky.
places with thick air, silver sounds, and enough space for our souls
, but they are still so close to the drop into the unspeakable;
that place that can best be described with peals of laughter let out
between sharp teeth in gaping mouths or with wide-open eyes
reflecting the emptiness they have seen there. but for now our laughter
still comes down like water, our eyes reflect the moon and they both speak love.
Moi, j'avais jamais rien dit. Rien