Post by Lucrezia / Lu (@lucrezia) on Sun, 16 Aug 20 14:28:17 +0000 View Full Post I will hold back my honeysuckle love, file down the thorns and wax the leaves so I can see the tickle in your smile one day more. We tread lightly in these hou...
Post by Lucrezia / Lu (@lucrezia) on Thu, 07 May 20 01:19:12 +0000 View Full Post I have mastered the art of aching, of waiting by the window with a great nothing in my hands, your face in my head, glossed over like a magazine. The art of sa...
Post by Lucrezia / Lu (@lucrezia) on Thu, 01 Aug 19 21:36:52 +0000 View Full Post Mother when you hold your hand out, and the cuckoo clock chimes unabashed, I hear every honey-and-blood leaf fall like a whisper against your forehead. Crimson...
Post by Lucrezia / Lu (@lucrezia) on Thu, 01 Aug 19 21:30:16 +0000 View Full Post when I am tired I ache in my knees, to keep them from buckling, I bind leaves crisping around me in a warm sigh. you wish to see me soar? I know only descent, ...
Post by Lucrezia / Lu (@lucrezia) on Thu, 01 Aug 19 21:28:36 +0000 View Full Post Monday, mourning for lost days, thinking of you, "thinking of you," winky face, swollen face, thin, emaciating. to waste away is to become invisible, slowly, th...
Post by Lucrezia / Lu (@lucrezia) on Thu, 01 Aug 19 21:27:15 +0000 View Full Post outstretched hand on an open sea waves edging you on to vertigo. dazed heat, ice cream stains here I am forgetting in the sand. maybe I'll be gone tonight, knee...
Post by Lucrezia / Lu (@lucrezia) on Wed, 10 Jul 19 17:45:03 +0000 View Full Post Bath, how does one explain the heaviness that remains, like after a bath, lying as the water drains to a gurgle, your limbs no longer your own, but of a giant,...
Post by Lucrezia / Lu (@lucrezia) on Sat, 20 Apr 19 22:13:12 +0000 View Full Post April, Italy he's the ghost in the frosted glass of the door, pacing in the darkness on the other side. sometimes, to be remembered is to be feared. however, h...
Post by Lucrezia / Lu (@lucrezia) on Sat, 13 Apr 19 18:20:27 +0000 View Full Post How deep into the pit should I throw myself, how many cuts, how many poisons will have my name? I am etched into the drywall, a sigh at sunset, a bog who dreams...
Post by Lucrezia / Lu (@lucrezia) on Fri, 12 Apr 19 01:04:38 +0000 View Full Post Oliver’s palms are clammy against the warm plastic seat, arms trembling to the same frequency of the laundromat’s dryers in their last spin cycle. An acid naus...
