literature

nocturne.

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Literature Text

each falling note is like falling down stairs,
falling into the inevitable
into myself and into you.

each trill is the quiet whimper of that realization
that wrenches your chest in the deep corners
of nighttime, as you remember
strikingly
the sorrow reflecting to render you blind
like glass in a desert.

each resolution reminds you
that roses do bloom within their perch of thorns.
i wish to grace their petals on your
jagged hip bones,
to whisk away with these faint fingers of mine
the cool precipitation of your long-suppressed demons.
oh, how easily despair melts
into the toxic, tainted,
twisted gladness of love.

each change in key transfigures the moon into the sun,
winter to summer, for emotion is naught without motion,
and in its sea-like shifting
air and water are up to debate
at the highest of tides and the most heedless of storms.
and i wish to capture the sacred beauty that
so uncannily pervades even your most mundane moments
and devour it, crash it over my shoulders gratefully
like holy water, shout until i am deaf and hoarse
as if to finally express the joy that rattles in my chest,
a canary in a cage,
as my confession of devotion
rests on my lips each time
like the still breathlessness
just before inevitable dawn breaks over the mountains –

like the music
i want to take you into my arms
and meld our hearts into one,
sublimely happy
and perfectly alone.
i'm beginning to think Chopin is the only thing that can make me write poetry anymore. xD

for zh
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