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Anne Sexton, from “The Truth the Dead Know”, The Complete Poems of Anne Sexton

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Art credit: Raku Inoue 

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we were in love once

crackling into flames

or an autumn frost

burning your nose awake

in quiet darkness

dripping life in the cold

warmed by these hearts

balanced on our outstretched

wrists pressed together

the softest kind

peony blooms

shedding sweet petals

in late may as

spring simmers to summer

imbibed with salt water

you sear your palm print

into the back of my neck

draw blood tenderly

ask permission or forgiveness

shattering, fragmented

we steamed up those car windows

already glimpsing the past

in the rear view

don’t you remember?

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You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope.

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Can we go back to sending love letters

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by ltg.art

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everyone needs to slowwww down and look at a fucking tree

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the brain pulses in time with the heartbeat.

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“Everything obscure and lonely disappears. When I walk I feel my legs. I think until there’s no air left inside me.”

— Joseph Ceravolo (1934-1988), from “Cold Night Alone” in “Collected poems. Joseph Ceravolo.”, edited by Rosemary Ceravolo and Parker Smathers

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The Night

Descends towards the valley

And the heartbeats of children

Echo to the peaks

Of mountains whose ears

Have petrified long ago

Soft breaths of

Morning only whisper

Between the ridges of

Crumbing soil

As stones rinse into

Rivers and back on to

Shores and the grey

Bones of the earth

Unearth themselves

All at once