Lessons# 8768

             (These are my Instagram writings from the account @hyperbolemuch)

 

Of all the Sundays

I spent in bed,

My favourite were

The ones I

Slow-danced with you, 

In my head.

You curved my back 

and dipped me low,

Unconditioned ends of my hair 

brushing the floor.

Free-spun the orange smeared

Evening and pulled her

Between our entangled limbs.

Nursing and keeping

6oclock alive, 

longer 

Than it was advised.

Don't worry darling;

The city never noticed,

They were too busy 

Running their errands.

(Picture credit: The heartbreaking account @ballerinaproject with the gorgeous @sarahjjames)

*******

I'll twist my body

Into a question mark.

I'll bend over

As soft as a sigh.

I'll turn myself

Organs out,

All for Love. All for Love.

And the only way,

Love will take me down

Is mid-dance.

(Picture credit: @ballerinaproject)

***

Fire may sear and brand your skin, but it's winter that slithers into the caves of your bones. At first snowflakes tingle and taste warm on your tongue, while icy winds lick secrets onto your ear. And then one day, you wake up having no memory of how to care about disease, starvation, heartache or anything other than the wretched temperature outside your window.

(Picture credit: Pictured above is New Jersey. Shot by my talented friend @kloseframe)

(For more, find me on Instagram: @hyperbolemuch)