Carl Phillips, "Fixed Shadow, Moving Water", Then the War: New and Selected Poems [ID'd]
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Safia Elhillo, Taxonomy
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— The Moon and the Yew Tree, Sylvia Plath
[text ID: How I would like to believe in tenderness]
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Sylvia Plath, from Last Words
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— haley nichole green, excerpt from hope & a cup of tea
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Let my hands do the talking. I swear, your body will listen.
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We touch, where hands become a sacrament, a ritual of love between us two...
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No, I don’t care that you’re messy and loud and sometimes annoying. I love you anyhow. Come over tonight. I will cook for you in the kitchen—it’s green tiles and the sun that peaks in through the windows. Come as you are. Leave your hair messy and your skin blank and your body cloaked in plain clothing. I find you most beautiful in that state—natural, beating, tender, alive. I will make us soup in my cleanest pot. It will be steaming and hot, but not too hot that it burns. I will love you enough for it to always keep you warm, but never in such a way that it hurts.
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Dieu Dinh, Tender Cracks; “Cracks”
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richard siken “driving, not washing” / benjamin 2018 / ilya kaminsky “while the child sleeps, sonya undresses”
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j a kraken poem please
— "A kiss on the forehead," Marina Tsvetaeva (trans. Ilya Kaminski & Jean Valentine
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I don't know what I'm looking for. Maybe it's just a hole to crawl into, a place to hide from the world. Or maybe it's something else entirely. Maybe it's something I can't even imagine yet.
-r.d.n-
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