tiny-poem

What I meant was, I wanted our hipbones to hold hands
while I take your lungs out to dinner. Dance with your

sunburned arms while I keep pretending that I am the moon
that pulls your tides back into place. The sea

would have been so jealous of the salt lines we leave behind
after dancing to the waves. I wanted you, and your left hand

tracing my backbones’ steering wheel to home. Your right hand,
a mailbox with endless love letters, on top of my knee,

I do not always have time to write back to, and still. You are so still.
What I meant was, I never should have taken these parts for granted

if they could have been the parts that kept us whole. We could
take each other’s toes on a walk on side street alleys and kiss

on benches full of thumbprints of no one we know. We could
do so much more, if only we had taught of it before.

—  Kharla M. Brillo, An Anatomy of Regrets
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The world can be better, in spite of it’s flaws. The world can be better and you’ll be the cause. 

Tiny cowboy

I was in a Star Wars episode
And you were the queen of outer space
But you didn’t know it yet
I drank my scotch in Mos Eisley Cantina
It was briny, peaty and burny
You were chasing alien birdthings
in your grumbling space car
I liked you even then
Even though you were loud
So loud
You were the queen of outer space
Who would have guessed
I would have guessed
I did guess
I made you playlists on my iPod thingie
for a whole week
And I sat there drinking my briny, peaty
burny scotch
Pretending not to notice
you were already fascinating