Each Moment Deserves a Memory
-- and we harvest each one by brittle hands.
Hurtling space rocks painted
gray
like the blemishes outside
are ugly.
//
Playlists of polyphonic
symphonies
backdrop moments lost within
memories.
//
Nervous fingers clutching nervous
palms —
each set of hands like a new
discovery.
//
Urns carefully memorialized on fragile
glass
crafted only by collecting
rain.
//
Cold air caressing thin silk
celestial
bodies stumbling while the dark lurks closely
behind.
//
Metal bodies rushing over damp
freeways
while soft fleshy bodies
sing.
//
Mold growing in layers like layers
of skin
until corpse — still living — curls
within.
//
Hours lost to midnight voices
laughing,
crying, sharing nothing and somehow
everything.
//
Young bodies moving to music
like dancing
will ease the raging storm
brewing.
//
Shame that cuts deep into
veins,
spiraling quickly like wicked
hurricanes.
//
Anxiety chilling water droplets
within
skin moments before a surgery
begins.
//
Silk fur softly kissing warm hands—
profound
love bound only by quiet
connections—
//
Realizing, slowly, that each atom
still
will someday become nothing
but memories.
About the Creator
Corvus
Corvus is a kaleidoscope of Gothic word-craft, stuck somewhere within the hurricanes of prose and poetry and wrung out on each page. Find more fragments of the love letter on their website, corvuslove.
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