The silver in your pulse ran through my hair like an ocean filled with stars, teaching fish how to swim, and stars how to dance.
Golden,
your breath was bursting with freckles of sunlight, the sky wrapped around your waist like a blanket of everything I’ve ever dreamed of, ready to watch me fall to sleep.
I painted pictures of the copper in your bones, I told people that your mouth tasted like the moon and your voice sounded like you had swallowed a field of wildflowers.
Home was always a word I was never too fond of. Home, indicated that you had a place in which you belonged, a place in which you were safe.
Every home I’ve ever had, left me.
But every time you opened your mouth I felt your flames spreading through out my body, your warmth on my skin, your salty breath falling on my shoulders, like the ocean had wrapped her hands around my collarbones, like the world felt safe resting inside my chest for a while.
You open your mouth and the world becomes so quiet, as if the wind is waiting to hear what you have to say.
You open your mouth and it feels like sunlight;
you open your mouth and,

It feels like home.


Poetry, poems, lovepoems, nature, natureimagery, naturepersonification, love, sad, breakup, heartbreak, happy, spokenword

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Cory Garcia
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