Hold onto your voice. Hold onto your breath. Don't make a noise, don't leave the room until I come back from the dead for you. I will come back from the dead for you. This could be a city. This could be a graveyard. This could be the basket of a big balloon. Leave the lights on. Leave a trail of letters like those little knots of bread we used to dream about. We used to dream about them. We used to do a lot of things. Put your hand to the knob, your mouth to the hand, pick up the bread and devour it. I'm in the hallway again, I'm in the hallway. The radio's playing my favourite song. Leave the lights on. Keep talking. I'll keep walking toward the sound of your voice.
306 notes"I relearn how to press my body
against other bodies. My slick flesh
like scales, like fish tail, hums across
men’s spines during autumn afternoons.
I teach my mouth words like sunshine,
cupcake. The mouth, once a fist,
now can’t help but smile when it wags
out these glittery promises.
My legs remember how to braid
themselves in with other legs,
hairy and sometimes freckled,
that like the gloss of my calves."
— Jenny Sadre-Orafai, Other Bodies (via grammatolatry)