You cannot say I have been lazy
as if I’ve lain here, prostrate,
I’ve grown lilacs in my lungs.
I feel its roots grasp flesh.
You cannot say I have been lazy,
do I sit here calm, fanning myself?
Where I pose still and quiet, my heart
outruns itself in secret.
was just practice
all the bodies you’ve ever undressed
and ploughed in to
were preparing you for me.
i don’t mind tasting them in the
memory of your mouth
they were a long hall way
a door half open
a single suit case still on the conveyor belt
was it a long journey?
did it take you long to find me?
you’re here now,
— Warsan Shire (via klonazepam)