February 2012
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Our Long Low Nights
captainstickylove:
1.
Sometimes when a jazz cymbal
is played with a brush—
a steady soft roll—
I hear those rainy streets,
the cars I shoved you against,
kissing you into place.
I can hear them coming for us,
rolling across the wet asphalt.
Our shirts as skin, soaked tight.
We both hate poems that mention jazz,
which is okay, because jazz hates us.
We kiss like jazz hates us.
2.
...
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Watchfuckyouarcadefire:
listening to oceans burning
watching this video was the highlight of my day
if
by highlight
you mean
why
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