#jihen

[fantodsdhrit]

the inadvertent motherland exhumes lunar eclipse—

pieces of ghalib famished—

language diagrams your concealed lips with nothing behind them—

stardust hurts

your knees in autumnal supplication

in flight an agonist attempts

blue heaven in titanium vines— between our starry expanse unlimned

you repeat that sulfur agonist

is me and you murder—

during climax with refined

papercuts my dim convex self— then abandon it later you escort its

rhododendron boron traces up

your rake sensuality glass shelf

[fantodsdhrit]

in flight we never mimic the countless echoes of crystalline people lonely

in hotel rooms narrating romances to motley of gods goddesses multitudes of

birds over market in kremenets

their sojourn a haze

a sign of excruciating sand

of grey tibetan refugees fresh with life but drab in fleeting tones sometimes

something falls through and

we can't fathom what

a brief karakoram for our disturbances much desired in this smog dusk

shapeless as a swarm rudimentary

without soiling the direction of

offspring winds without lingering

[fantodsdhrit]

for some reason the dream leaves behind an ephemeral river never will we reach

ourselves forever in flight forever fixated on that chromium bridge on which our

conversations lagged

enough proud soft stabs

in that instant i was

that you had searched for all along

with unfocused gaze and now i couldn't give shape to the shapes i observed grave

vaguely tormented while bismuth moths sheltered gleaming melodious eyelids

a taste of usual train decay

in dark salt being seamless

with pure ash fleck winds

[fantodsdhrit]

copper daylight fades— you say: the soul seems to bite itself— wet with—tramline longing, a little monstrous—but bearable; and recall all the people-shapes—

who mounted you—

in slanting control, hefty and sisyphean

and i was just throat then—

when you come again, again— we look for something that's not there, your hands—trace trains with ease,

ease known only to shamans who brought kings down—through carbon prophecies— they are jinns now—hidden in functionless art frames or

satiny mire staggering towards

sleeping clouds

or mesmerizing machines that lack

lyrical or conversant, quiet or stormy "being," we can confess— to satiating chaos merging into hours dilatory,

your spread of awnings in

that precarious spikenard embrace—

cleaves the moist sky

[fantodsdhrit]

buried butterfly time of year— for a supremely glorious month poem embellished with your precipitates: sometimes, misty, nothing, ashlar,

a piece of flesh,

plastic children in blank eyes,

mundane cooking, leech kiss,

work-from-home smog,

somnambulant mosquito;

i know your water is redolent of mating pines swaying violet with oblivion—

your hypersensitivity— maroon gift-wrapped nakedness— warps time "entire white hole organism" stiffly crumples bone-weary crescent shapes, which fail to hush lapis lazuli nightscape

but hunts alone—

mildly voracious breath-disguise devours

pomegranate gossamer wings

[gloriouskittystrawberry]

𝙠𝙤𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙠𝙖𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙚 <"3

[murmaider-queen]

[thekihyun]

35 & 47 :)

Hi :))

35. If money was not a factor, how would you live your life?

Oh well, I would probably travel a lot, go see the beauties of nature, I would spend a lot if time with people I love and and try to go to concerts of artists I love.

47. How would you spend your ideal day?

With my friends and boyfriend, sunny day, beer and good food... everyone chatting and having fun :)

Dig a little deeper.