superfluous sincerity

My heart drowns in its own superfluous sincerity.

noir

As the full-bellied moon
checks her purse-lipped
reflection in the mirror
of the sleeping lake,
I can feel a velvet noir
creeping through
the cob-webbed
caverns of my chest.

A Dionysian wildness
curdles like bracelets
tight around my veins,
until I’m candied
with curiosity
that licks at my goose-
bumps like flame-tips
dancing against my skin.

An arch creeps into
spine, and I lean my head
over the steady stern
of the boat, until my split
ends almost kiss
the warm water
that floats us;
the world looks different
upside down-
like a star-spangled
sandwich of navy sky
and deep navy lake,
with broccoli trees
and sporadically lit
houses in between.

Staring into the moon
like I can never do with the sun,
there is something
stirring in my brain-
something alien and familiar
at once- I listen hard
for the whispers
I beg from the sky
with imploring eyes-
a voice fills the air
and I gasp in anticipation-

“Um, hey I’m gonna
pee off the back of the boat
so you might not want
your head hanging back here.”
Quick response,
upright again,
watching the inspiration
snake away across
the water and almost
reach out after it.

His pee makes ripples
and their vibrations thrust
me back into reality again
with an elastic snap.
I hunger for that almost-
achieved wildness.

Dog Mountain
By Danielle Hughson

 

(via poemsofthequiet)

brutalgeneration:

West Highlands (by ardemonia .)

brutalgeneration:

West Highlands (by ardemonia .)

“I was quiet, but I was not blind.”

—   Fanny Price, Mansfield Parki   (via audrotas)

(Source: bibliophilebunny, via chaiivee)

(Source: jmalonedaily)

wnderlst:

Qinghai, China | David Liu

wnderlst:

Qinghai, China | David Liu

(via udaitaxim)

(Source: englishsnow, via fiverrwasright)

“It’s a brave thing being loved by me, but then it’s a brave thing being loved at all. Where do we find the nerve? We say ‘all right, I like you, so I put my happiness in your hands.’ We say ‘your smile tickles me so let’s spend forever going to bed mad at one another.’”

—   Donna-Marie Riley, Brave Thing (via five—a—day)