ribs

but if you follow the deer-paths?

deep, deep down into the throbbing heart of the woods.

you come across that poem

that you've been waiting for all your life.

here.

you are safe here.

so you lie down on the sweet grass and let the moss grow over you,

until the wind blows your bones away.

He sees me.

but my ribs are like trees that haven't blossomed yet.

white trees.

and only the God of the stars would have the heart to believe something could grow from them.

xx

hey homies. how was thursday? much love and strawberries and lilacs.

i've been missing cally lately.