I hunger for your sleek laugh and your hands the color of a furious harvest. I want to eat the sunbeams flaring in your beauty.
If the sun were to explode,
you wouldn’t even know about it
for eight minutes
And nothing in the world
gives me a heavier heart
than knowing I wouldn’t be able to reach you
before the world went dark.
You’re way too young not to believe it’s going to be ok.
Listen—are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?
When did the future switch from being a promise to being a threat?