加载中…【Cecilia Borromeo的诗歌】
(2016-10-08 17:32:19)
Something that you should
know by Cecilia
Borromeo
my secrets
appear on your window
when you fog the division
with your own warm breath;
you lost yourself in their presence,
in your search for
cheekbones on sunflowers
and night blades
by the moon's chin.
impatience hummed your fears,
and the absence you cherished
quickly dissolved.
the only way to know is
to
ask
nothing.
appear on your window
when you fog the division
with your own warm breath;
you lost yourself in their presence,
in your search for
cheekbones on sunflowers
and night blades
by the moon's chin.
impatience hummed your fears,
and the absence you cherished
quickly dissolved.
the only way to know is
to
ask
nothing.
Silent
Mark by Cecilia
Borromeo
another day is here and my hands are
still covered
with a mantle of stoic ink
words scribbled on a hesitant paper
wishing to be read now not later.
i want you to see this point-like light from an abyss
growing tongues tasting the wind
feel like the knife scraping soft butter
and see that small things matter.
but i still have no sense of complete abandon
to let the ink burn, to let it leak
until it forms a crystallized dew
becoming, at last, your scar tissue.
with a mantle of stoic ink
words scribbled on a hesitant paper
wishing to be read now not later.
i want you to see this point-like light from an abyss
growing tongues tasting the wind
feel like the knife scraping soft butter
and see that small things matter.
but i still have no sense of complete abandon
to let the ink burn, to let it leak
until it forms a crystallized dew
becoming, at last, your scar tissue.
Restless by Cecilia
Borromeo
It is that perennial immateriality
dwelling between living and dying
crouched in the corners and grappling by the hinges
only to remain unseen;
We weave our web of what we believe we understand
of the relationship of our acts and events
only to remain misunderstood;
From that odd wisp of steam of heated discussions
to the urgent hiss of a new page calling;
I teeter on that thin ice --
That single space of uncertainty --
And I ask
“What am I doing here?”.
crouched in the corners and grappling by the hinges
only to remain unseen;
We weave our web of what we believe we understand
of the relationship of our acts and events
only to remain misunderstood;
From that odd wisp of steam of heated discussions
to the urgent hiss of a new page calling;
I teeter on that thin ice --
That single space of uncertainty --
And I ask
“What am I doing here?”.
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