He was always poetry.
Not the beautiful kind —
the kind that cuts and leaves scars.
— n.

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@ninasorelle
He was always poetry.
Not the beautiful kind —
the kind that cuts and leaves scars.
— n.
sun in my eyes
lying in the field
bare skin
against the heat
you above me
like a shadow
i don’t move
i just
let it happen
pillows on the floor
lipstick on your chin
you’re still sleeping
and i smile
like i know why
no cream
this morning
just rose jam
and the way
you taste
on me
today tastes like mint and chocolate
everything feels like you again
as if poetry
is nothing but
the fact that you exist
that street
could’ve had your name
an azalea
on the corner
me just beneath
its bloom
violet nails
holding something small
they all came
for the palms
but you—
you were watching
my leg
the way
i fixed my lipstick
you’re a good kisser
and somehow
i ended up
blue-tinted
inside a polaroid
you kept
friday morning
oven warm
cherry batter
on my fingers
i stretch
just enough
to reach the top shelf
you step closer
like you were waiting
for that
you look at me
like you’re part
of the recipe
i stole
the scent of jasmine
the taste of peaches
and wear the sun
like it’s mine
i’m not easy to love
i want everything
then disappear
shy
but not innocent
i’ve seen mirrors
and ruined lipstick
maybe love isn’t real
but pretending still feels like it is
cinnamon
on my lips
coffee in my hands
morning turning lilac
and me wanting more
you calling me
again
you said
i look beautiful
like this
eyes a little blurred
voice softer
and i hated
how much
i wanted you
to be right
you were a little jealous
my lips
still burning
and i smiled
a little blue
like i liked
the danger
that was you
kissing you in low light
a rose caught in my hair
you whisper my name
and lift me
onto the hood
orange sky, vanilla air
the sea watching
like it knows
something impossible
— nina
today tastes like
mint and chocolate
the air smells like jasmine
and something I almost remember
a line of shoes by the door
your quiet somewhere in the house
and me—
writing again
as if poetry
was just
the fact that you exist
— nina
Eyes heavy with sleep
water on my lips
you beside me, quiet—
and suddenly
you become the only thing I keep writing.
— nina
I left the coffee
on the table
still warm
like the way
you stayed
in my hands
— nina