I saw a girl once, with smudges of wind on her hands like fingerpaints too sloppily cleaned up. She carried a sliver of moonbeams tucked behind her ear, woven into her hair, like some sort of celestial ribbon. Timber wolf cries graced her eyelids like mournful hymns for the dead and gone, but not forgotten.
She was a phantom of a dream I haven’t yet had.
seth wanted me to tell you guys that when he went to the st. patty’s parade in pittsburgh, punxsutawney phil was there, & that naturally he & my uncle led the crowd in a rousing choir of booing at the little shit’s inaccurate weather predictions, thus causing one of phil’s “handlers” to approach them threateningly to say “hey man… let it go.”
I’ve been told my hair
smells like the ocean.
I hope when I hold you my dear,
you feel like the
shore when the
tide rushes in.
I hope my arms are
waves enveloping your shore,
hiding you in the safe
embrace of the depths of my love.
I would kiss your hair if I could,
and hold you like a
mother, like a
sister, like the
ocean
holds its
daughters.
