I hope you can taste the poem I wrote on your mouth.
[They] often found themselves in dark rooms, mapping out each other’s bodies, claiming whole countries with their mouths.
— Warsan Shire, “Grandfather’s Hands” (via lifeinpoetry)
And I mean it. I stayed. I stayed. I stayed. If there’s anything I’ve come to understand it’s that I left my body to tell you these things and did not lock the door behind me.
— Buddy Wakefield, “Self-Portrait” (via gapsbetweenstories)
theme by: heloísa teixeira