in the time it takes your eyes
to adjust to the dark,
i see versions of a universe, bright and bold and
all that is wonderful, and
your eyes aren't hazel but
striking green.
jaspered and wonderful,
and melancholy, dotted with rain on the window.
here, we look for each other in the crowd
and there were never any blackbirds,
and there were never any leopards,
and there were never any clovers.
in the time it takes your eyes to adjust to
the dark,
i could've told stories about gods and eagles,
and long, dark roads
and cats and nights spent in company of fire,
or on horseback. when i saw you in the crowd
you looked at me and spoke silence.
when the sun is gone i'll find you again,
dark and cold and alone as i have ever been,
and i'll be there, like a dog, and you'll
still be it's teeth.
in the time it takes your eyes to adjust to the dark, i could've spelt your name
in a thousand different ways.
YOU ARE READING
an idiots guide to life; how to survive the badlands of wyoming
Poetrythe slightly deranged ramblings of a teenage trans guy living in wyoming there's no overarching theme but there sure is a lot of dogs, horses, and god(s) . i do not know what i am talking about 97% of the time mostly posted chronologically in order...
