@houseofleaving - Tumblr Blog

“you up? you ever think about how english maybe isn’t our first language? the way I’m sitting right now is my first language. the way I bring my hand to your jawline is my first language. the way I become movement inside your hands is my first language.”

-Rachelle Toarmino

#snippets

Oh what I would give to have been a boy with you August heat turning the asphalt into sea glass We could hike into the woods, to the river Me, a Hunter-- You, a Taxidermist, restorative and come across old bones, Bleached and Sun-kissed You're covered in mosquito bites My hand is in yours, intertwined Like the weeds between It's ribs, knife sharp and wanting.

and I could stand on your porch with my hair chopped off and You'd say, Don't Bite The Hand That Feeds and I'd whisper, Bite Everything Bite everything. turn it into scraps Sharp and Silver and Bullet-Quick Sliced palms, pressed together and bloody Stained raw and red like we'd found wild cranberries Dog's Teeth are the notches in our spines.

#8.19.21 #mine #; blood brothers #spilled ink

I hope when we die, our hells are next-door-neighbors and you can still steal the packages off of my porch, and I can peek in through your curtains to see how you're doing. But when you live in a room, your world becomes that room; Your hell becomes that room, it becomes your mother. And often like a father I dream of setting it alight with me inside. So at least our hells can be in the same apartment building, And you can get angry at me for loud music during the night, and I can press up against the wall next to my bed when I'm lonely-- Just to try and keep you closer-- And leave an imprint in the ash.

#8.12.21 #spilled ink #; not such a bad place