• rzmusings

    I look at you and my heart strains like the strings of a violin under the skillful fingers of its owner. the melody warms the very depths of my soul, leaving me breathless in your beauty— oh, how you make me want to sing.
    I look at you, you with that warm smile, and I want to crumble in your arms and my soul burns to melt into your warmth, until every single atom of me unwinds to bond with yours.

    — always yearning for you

    • July 27, 2024116 notesrebloglike
    #— reblog#her

  • to evaporate

    to be held within tufts of air and dust

    nurtured by the ripe candescence of sun

    lulled to soft slumber by way of its repose

    nothing and nobody else

    for there is not one body in sight or sense


    to enter unscathed and oblivious

    to linger atop deserts, plains, fields, monuments, and mountains

    to be without the eyes to see them or the ears to hear their plight

    to be a mere particle

    to be a fragment of a much larger form

    and to have no idea

    to have nothing and be nothing

    to travel across the atmosphere with no legs to grow weary

    to be the barest form of liquid

    until the next time it rains

    and to precipitate from whence i came

    plummet gracefully, forcefully, and purposefully back down to the earth

    nourishing its particles, its plants, its people

    painting a terracotta pot crimson, maybe

    dripping down its side and onto the grass

    spreading thinner as i reemerge into this thing

    this thing i wished so desperately to flee

    this thing i hoped would entangle me into its roots and swallow me whole

    only to sprout anew, remember my first name,

    and take to my usual walking route

    but with the light of the stars in the back of my mind

    the warmth of the sun on the tip of my nose

    and the memory of non-existence

    as if it could ever be obtained


    this is what i wish

    i do not wish to be gone

    i wish to volatilize

    and reconvene with the notion that i did not bud out from this planet without purpose to serve

    and that i was hand plucked from the clouds

    to return home

    and to stay

    • February 20, 20244 notesrebloglike
    #— text#— poems#— mine#poetry#original poetry#original poem#poem
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